


The Illusion of Knowledge

by ApresMoi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Bottom Sam, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 82,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApresMoi/pseuds/ApresMoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After too many years of being everything his parents wanted and needed him to be, Sam Campbell is finally moving away from a life of hunting and towards the life he's always dreamed of. He's going to college, he's going to make friends, he's going to be normal. Then he meets Dean, the bartender by night / student by day, and instantly he knows normal may not be in the cards.<br/></p>
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	1. One Foot In Front of the Other

**Author's Note:**

> _While working on the sequel to Time Served, I couldn't get this plot out of my head. So while I work on Project Hunter, I'm also going to be writing this which seems to come a little faster._
> 
> __
> 
>  
> 
> I really hope you enjoy it and know that, even though I am possibly creating more questions than I am answering in these first few chapters, you guys know I'm good for answers down the road. ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know what you think!!

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

He was nervous. 

He was rarely nervous but today felt a little overwhelming and Sam Campbell had never been a big fan of overwhelming. He was more of a study up, be prepared, no surprises kind of guy. But with new possibilities before him and a life he’d secretly dreamed of for years seemingly within his reach… Well he knew he’d be a fool if he walked away now that he was there. 

He thought of what his father might say to him in this moment, if he’d been there. 

“Stop over thinking every damn thing, son, and put one foot in front of the other.” The man’s deep no-nonsense voice sounded off in Sam’s head. The words were there automatically as though his father had become part of his subconscious, or maybe he always had been. Sam wasn’t sure anymore. “You may not get to where you thought you might be going but at least you can say you were never standing still.” 

Of course, Luke Campbell had lead his wife and son from one end of the world to the other and back again for the better part of twenty years so standing still had never strictly been a problem. 

Sam came to a halt in front of an overlarge medieval style building, looked down at the computer printout in his hand and then up at the building once more. Besides unnecessary buttresses, there was also what looked like a battlement along the top and what he hoped was a faux portcullis above the tall entryway. Beside the tall darkly stained door was an ornate gold plaque, which declared it the Department of English Studies and even the font seemed pretentious in a way that only an English Department could get away with. 

It was like something out of the imagination of his thirteen year old self. He could feel the nerdy kid in him clutching his book on _King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table_ to his chest and gazing awestruck at what he would see as a scaled down version of Camelot. 

He almost giggled. 

“Alright,” he said firmly, “last class of the day. You got this.” 

He had arrived half an hour early for this particular class as his Sociology class before it had consisted of little more than a first-day introduction and a quick run-down of the semester’s syllabus. As he entered the building he wondered if everyone had the same idea. 

The wide tiled hallways were full to the brim, bustling with activity. Students bounced off of one another like metal bearings in a pinball machine and there seemed to always be one or two people that refused to adhere to the unwritten rule that hallways run just like roads as they walked against the flow of traffic. 

He managed to get turned around twice in the chaos, once taking the wrong set of stairs and another where he ended up in a wing that housed the professors’ offices, but Sam finally managed to locate room 318 well before the class was due to start. 

Even with eighteen or so minutes to spare, there was already a large group of people milling around outside of the closed door. 

“Waiting for British Lit?” he asked no one in particular as he adjusted the heavily laden backpack on his shoulder. 

There was no response forthcoming to confirm that he was indeed in the right place and he soon noticed that over half of the group had headphones on or ear buds shoved in their ears. 

“Yeah, man,” he finally heard someone speak up from behind him. 

Sam turned and smiled in relief. Relief that he was in the right place and hadn’t made some colossal mistake over the date or time or location… It seemed that this first day stuff was bringing out some irrational paranoia. 

He took in the guy that had spoken and who was leaning casually back against the wall across from the classroom door. The guy seemed normal enough. He was of average height, maybe five foot ten. He had dark hair and eyes and was extremely well dressed right down to the flawless shine on his shoes. He had a natural polish to him that screamed ‘money’ but Sam wasn’t one to hold things like that against people. 

“Hey, thanks,” he finally managed in response. “This is my third class today and I swear I think you’re the first person so far to talk directly to me.” 

Sam immediately wanted to pause life, pluck the words out of the air between them, and stuff them back down his own throat. He couldn’t believe he had just admitted that to a total stranger. Could he possibly make himself look any lamer? 

“You’re new here,” the guy said in a matter-of-fact way, seemingly choosing to ignore Sam’s own unintentional self-deprecating comment. 

“Yeah. First day. How’d you know?” 

The guy looked at the crowd around him as if mentally cataloguing everyone. “Kind of a small campus, in case you haven’t noticed.” 

Oh, Sam had noticed. It was one of the reasons he was there. What better place to start over than in a tucked away in the middle of nowhere hamlet which housed little more than a university, a bottling factory and a handful of stores? He hoped that the lack of external stimulation would help him stay focused. It would also keep him out of trouble and typically he needed all the help with that he could get. 

“Also,” his new acquaintance went on, “I make it a point to know everything and every _one_ on campus. I find it to be very beneficial in a multitude of circumstances.” He grinned cheekily like there was something more to the statement than Sam could know. Still it was a contagious smile and Sam found himself smiling back. 

“I’m sure you do. Sam Campbell,” he said by way of introduction. 

“Craig Reagan,” the guy replied, grabbing Sam’s extended hand and pumping it in a firm shake. “Nice to meet you.” 

“So, um…what are you here for? What’s your major?” It was a cliché question but Sam wasn’t quite sure he had anything else to say and he really didn’t want the conversation to end just yet. 

Because, what was even sadder than this being the first person to speak to him that day, was the fact that Sam was pretty sure he was the first person to converse with him all week. That is, if you didn’t count his roommate, and with a majority of their conversations so far revolving around grunts and monosyllabic answers to simple questions, Sam did not count his roommate. 

“Political Science and Government.” Craig nodded gravely as if he himself found the idea somewhat disconcerting. “I know. It seems like terribly boring stuff right? But the ultimate goal is law school, then a meteoric rise in the ranks of a prestigious law firm and finally politics. I’m thinking a Senate seat by thirty-five.” 

“That sounds like it might just suit you,” Sam laughed, thinking the guy seemed confident enough for politics. 

“What about you? What brings you to our fine center of learning?” 

“If you’re asking my major, currently it’s English. I’m actually considering law school as well.” 

“Ah-ha! I thought so!” The guy held a finger aloft as if he’d just proven a point, though Sam wasn’t sure what that might be. “I completely had you pegged for a law school candidate. You just have this look…” 

Sam looked down at himself and then at Craig. They were dressed nearly identical, in a button down shirt and khakis, and maybe that’s where ‘the look’ he spoke of came in. The only real difference was the crisp, less worn look of Craig’s clothing and the fact that Sam had thrown on a tie, which he’d purchased from the university supply store the day before. It bore the school colors of aubergine and gold and he wore it proudly like a banner of new beginnings. 

“So do you know your focus? Like corporate law, maybe?” He rubbed his chin as he sized Sam up with a sharp look in his eyes. “No…that’s too stiff, right? Family law? Gonna go after the cheating husbands while you’re consoling those poor lovely heartbroken wives?” He waggled his eyebrows but Sam shook his head, more out of amusement than having ever thought it was a sincere question. Craig narrowed his eyes. “You’re not one of those hippy-dippy environmental law types, are you?” 

Sam stared at him and gave a little snort of laughter. Finally when Craig seemed to be waiting for an actual answer instead of trying to provide one of his own, Sam replied, “Criminal law, actually.” 

“Oh excellent!” He nodded enthusiastically. 

Of course, Sam wasn’t going to expound on that. It wasn’t like he could say that it was due to a lifetime of breaking most of the laws on the books that he had become interested in law in the first place. 

One had to have a good grasp of a rule, he’d knew from experience, before they could really break it, good and proper. 

But that was then and this was now and now he wanted to work on the side of law that didn’t get him thrown in jail or placed on probation. 

“So…Reagan?” Sam asked, trying for a casual foray onto a different subject altogether. “Seriously? Like former president, Reagan?” 

“Yeah. Unfortunate, I know.” 

“Guess that depends on who you ask and what side of the isle you plan to sit on when you get that big Senate seat.” 

Craig laughed at this and Sam grinned a little wider than the moment called for but he blamed it on the feelings of elation brought on by the fact that he had actually made some sort of intelligent human contact. He hadn’t been sure how he would do out in the real world when it was just him being him, but maybe he wasn’t as socially impaired he feared he might be. 

Just then, the class that had been occupying the room let out and everyone stood aside as a flood of students exited, looking slightly shell-shocked. Sam thought nothing of it and moved his bag onto his other shoulder as they prepared to head in. 

The first thing he heard upon entering the classroom was a surprised female voice perk up with, “Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water?” 

Considering his well above average height of six foot four inches, he had actually heard that one once or twice and assumed – correctly, as it turned out – that it was aimed at him. 

A woman in her late thirties, maybe early forties, grinned saucily at him from the front of the lecture hall. It was obvious from her place beside the lectern as well as the way most of the students gave her a wide birth and looked at her as though she might lash out at them at any second that she was the professor. 

Sam hadn’t the slightest clue how to handle the pointed remark so he just ducked his head and moved further into the room towards the stairs of the auditorium. 

Halfway up the steps, he heard what sounded like choking behind him and he turned to see Craig shaking his head, fingers spread wide like frozen jazz-hands and a look of unparalleled shock on his face. “I cannot believe that just happened. Did Professor Mason just hit on you? She did, didn’t she?” 

“Hit on? Hardly,” Sam scoffed and followed Craig to one of the top rows, taking the seat next to him on the end. 

“Sam, she is a raging beast! Pseudo-feminist with a capital cut your balls o-F-F. I’ve never heard her say anything nice about anyone, much less anyone of the male persuasion.” Craig looked closely at the woman; scanning her as if it were the first time he was seeing her. If Sam had to pinpoint it, the guy looked a little disappointed, like he was let down that the teacher hadn’t said something mildly inappropriate to him as well. “Always thought she might be a lesbian,” he said as if it had previously been his sole consolation. 

He busied himself retrieving his notebook, several pens and the thick English textbook that had been pre-assigned to the class. 

“Samuel Campbell? Is there a Samuel Campbell here yet?” Mason questioned from where she stood stiffly at the front of the room, her thick black cat-eye glasses riding low on the bridge of her thin nose. 

“Uh…yeah. That’s me,” Sam raised his hand hesitantly, attempting to draw the least amount of attention possible to himself. 

The teacher’s face morphed from a tight-lipped scowl to a softer curious smile in a heartbeat. “Mr. Campbell. How are you already in British Lit II? This is considered a senior level course and you, though you certainly do not look it, are registered as a freshman.” 

He felt his face flame and knew he was turning five shades of red as dozens of eyes all swung his way, all wanting to check out the new guy. “I-I took several years at another school, but the credits…um, didn’t all transfer. The dean signed off on it herself. I can show you the paperwork.” He started for his bag but she put up her hand to halt him. 

“Unnecessary, Mr. Campbell. If you say it’s so, I shall give you the benefit of the doubt. But I won’t slow down for you and I will not give you any breaks. Keep up or leave.” 

“Of course,” he said, relieved that he was being allowed to stay. He had a seriously questionable schedule and thank goodness the dean was as understanding as she was, otherwise he would have found himself sitting through English 101 all over again. And no one deserved to sit through that tripe twice. 

“Mind shoving over?” He heard a deep voice ask from above him several moments later. 

“Uh…” Sam looked up and eyed the new arrival warily. He had one arm draped around a scantily clad girl and the other holding a notebook down at his side. The couple was surreally gorgeous as though they had stepped straight out of the pages of a magazine. Both had blonde hair but where she was statuesque and her features classically beautiful, the man had a harder look about him. He was all rugged good looks and piercing eyes. 

Soft grass-green eyes. 

Eyes that were still on Sam. Waiting for an answer. 

A little dazed, he looked down at the seat he was currently occupying, considering what was being asked of him. 

Sam did not like the idea of not being in the isle seat. The ability to position himself for maximum safety and hasty exists was engrained into his bone marrow. Yet that wasn’t his life anymore and he couldn’t continue clinging to old habits if he expected to move forward. 

He glanced back at Craig and shrugged before looking back up to the newcomer. “Sure.” 

They moved over two seats but the guy sat on the end in the seat Sam had vacated while the girl draped herself on his lap instead of opting for the other chair. 

“You know you can’t stay for class,” he murmured against her mouth. 

The girl grinned as he outright licked along her bottom lip. “I’ll take what I can get.” 

“Hmm… and what I wouldn’t give to give you _all_ that you could _take_.” 

Sam almost laughed out loud at the exchange. He looked at Craig who rolled his eyes dramatically. “That’s Winchester. Get used to it. He’s always like this,” he muttered. 

The girl was running her fingers through the guy’s short spiky hair as he nibbled on her neck and whispering to her, his own hands running patterns across her bare legs. 

Sam sighed. He was firmly on the fence about the whole situation. On one hand, it was fairly tasteless for them to be full-on making out in class. Who needed to see the hetero love-in? 

On the other hand, Sam hadn’t had any kind of anything in what some would consider a very long time and it was making him far more interested in gawking at the couple than he ever wanted or would claim to be. 

Still, for propriety’s sake, he was toying with the idea of saying something to the guy when Professor Mason stepped in and did it for him. 

“Mr. Winchester. It’s so lovely to see you again. I do ask that you leave your date in the hallway so that the rest of us may proceed with class. If you don’t mind, of course.” The tone was perfunctory, light, and airy like a flight attendant making announcements before takeoff, but the undertone was definitely biting. She was a hard-ass that brooked no argument. Mason was anti-bullshit and it showed. 

“Anything for you, Joyce,” Winchester replied loudly, blatantly winking at the professor who simply arched an eyebrow in return. He nodded to the girl in his lap and gave her rear a pat. “See ya ‘round, doll.” 

The girl looked a little dejected but stood and leaned down to catch his mouth in one last enthusiastic kiss. “Call me?” 

“You bet.” 

Sam winced. That was a _‘you bet’_ that almost anyone, outside of the person it was being said to, would interpret as actually meaning _‘I highly doubt it but I’m going to let you walk away with your head held high and hope alive’_. 

“Poor girl,” Craig lamented, following the girl’s lone trek to the door with a pitying gaze. 

“Poor girl? I just gave her the best hour of her life,” Winchester leaned forward to look past Sam. “How’s it hangin’ Craig?” The two guys nodded to one another and Sam pressed himself back against his seat so as not to be in their line of sight. 

Craig made a show of thinking about it. “To the left today.” He laughed at his own bad joke. 

The other guy shook his head. “Leave the comedy to the bears, Reagan. Seriously.” He looked at Sam and his eyes ran up and down as if he were only just now noticing his presence and was trying to place the face. “And you are…?” 

Sam’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. It was as if he had forgotten the English language in its entirety in the face of one simple question. 

What was _wrong_ with him today? 

Craig, thankfully, saved him from what was sure to have been either minutes of awkward silence or a sudden stumbling three-minute dissertation on how awkward introductions could be and how Craig was the only person that had talked to him that week. 

“Sam, this is Dean Winchester. Don’t mind him, I’m sure he just left his manners in his other pants. Dean, this is Sam Campbell. He’s new to our fair university.” 

Sam blinked and nodded. He stuck his hand out intending to shake the man’s hand but Dean sat unmoving and stared blankly until Sam retracted the proffered hand. 

_O….kay._

“So, Freshman, you got a pen I can borrow? Maybe some paper? I didn’t bring anything.” 

“I…yeah, I guess.” Sam glanced at the spiral-bound notebook that was now resting on Dean’s lap where the girl had just been but decided not to rock the boat since he was technically the new arrival. No need to make a bad impression his first day out, especially when you didn’t know the lay of the land. The guy could be the dean’s third cousin or something. Then it occurred to him what Dean had called him. “Wait, how did you know I was a freshman?” 

“How did I know?” Dean chuckled and shook his head as if the answer should be fairly obvious. “Well there’s the clothing situation you have going on here,” Dean fingered the collar of Sam’s dress shirt and tweaked the perfect Windsor knot of his tie. “Way over dressed, dude. This is a school – Sunday best is not required. The hair,” he reached up and tugged gently on a strand of Sam’s ever so slightly too long dark brown hair. “The hair is mussed to the point that it looks overworked, like you styled it three or four times before you got it up to first-day standards. Your little supply store you have there,” he continued, pointing at Sam’s feet where his bag sat unzipped and gaping. 

It was true. Besides his used textbooks, the bag contained four shiny new notebooks, three packs of pens, one pack of retractable pencils, at least eight highlighters of various hues, and a brand new calculator. There was even a correction tape pen that also had little paper flags for marking pages in your books. It really was something of a supply store but for Sam, who had never had those little things many took for granted, it was a most glorious sight to behold. 

He had even set them out across his bed the night before, the new purchases spread evenly and at ninety-degree angles, just so he could stand back and stare at them. Pride and the simple thrill of ownership had settled warmly over him. 

“Also,” he heard Dean begin again and he turned back in time to see him roll his neck like it was tight. “I heard Mason saying you were a freshman while I was making my grand entrance. Don’t worry. I’m certain you’ll inevitably fall to peer pressure and be crawling into class ten minutes late wearing pajama pants and yesterday’s hair just like the rest of the matriculating masses before you know it. So…paper? Pen?” He stared expectantly at Sam. “Class is starting and I can’t have her on my ass this semester. We have a love/hate relationship and I would prefer to stay away from the dark side presently.” 

Sam handed the paper and pen over and tried not to get too annoyed with the guy never said thank you. 

Professor Mason, it turned out, wasn’t one of those ‘welcome to my class, now go home’ kind of teachers and had launched straight away into teaching, much to Sam’s delight. An hour later she finally bid them good day and as soon as they were dismissed, Dean was the first one out of his seat, shooting out of the room without so much as a glance backwards. 

Also…he took Sam’s pen. 

“Your friend is kind of…” Sam began, searching for the correct word. He didn’t know how tight Dean and Craig were and he didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth any more than he may already have. 

Craig laughed in his face outright. “An ass? Believe me when I say that I’m aware. Anyway, he’s not my friend.” 

“But…I thought-,” 

“Like I said, I know everyone to some degree or another. I belong to one of the fraternities on campus and Winchester hangs out with some of the brothers. He’s just one of those guys, ya know? Everyone seems to know him. The ladies want to be _with_ him. Some guys want to _be_ him but more than not they want to kick his ass.” 

He thought about the brusque way Dean had asked who Sam was. He thought about his casual dismissal and the somewhat mocking way he’d pointed out the evidence of Sam’s first-day excitement. 

“I can see why.” 

“Definitely rough around the edges.” 

“Yeah…” Sam thought about where he had been only a few short months ago. He had been living hand-to-mouth, most of his money coming from shooting pool, and hitchhiking his way from California to Nebraska. Sometimes he even found himself hopping trains or stowing away on trucks, but he had drawn the line at stealing a car. If he no longer had an end to justify his means, then he wanted to keep things on the up and up. 

He wondered what Craig Reagan would say about him if he knew all of that. 

“Well, we’re all a little rough around the edges if you look hard enough,” he said just above a whisper. 

Realizing straight away that he was being maudlin, Sam shook his head and laughed softly at himself. “That’s way too deep for the first day of class, right?” 

“Completely.” Craig gave him a light punch on the shoulder to let him know that he wouldn’t hold it against him and followed Sam down the stairs and out into the hallway. “So where are you headed? I was just about to meet up with some friends for coffee at the shop down the street. You’re free to come with.” He hitched a thumb in what Sam assumed was the general direction of the coffee shop. 

He thought about his choices. He could go and meet people, get a coffee, and try to start things off on a good foot or he could go back to his dorm room and sit there reading while simultaneously watching his roommate zombify himself playing video games for hours on end. 

Sam grinned broadly but quickly tucked his lips between his teeth so as not to look like too eager. “Yeah, coffee sounds great.” 

“Great! I will give you one piece of advice though. Tell them up front that you’re a freshman. That way they get the hazing over with quickly. Like a band-aid.” Craig’s teasing expression had an evil glint to it. 

Sam groaned inwardly but after all he’d been through in his life, all the crazy unexplainable shit he’d seen, he knew he could take a little good-natured verbal harassment from a few college kids. No problem. 

So he followed alongside his new companion, matching him stride for stride. 

One foot in front of the other.


	2. Pour for a Pour

[](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)  


Dean had never been one for pleasantries. He wasn’t big on small talk. He didn’t really like talking much at all, truth be told. Even growing up, everyone had told him he was sometimes too quiet for his own good. 

He’d even tried to run away once when he was a kid, after his dad had left him behind. His adopted family hadn’t noticed for nearly twelve hours, just figuring he was in one of his pensive moods. 

You would never have known it for all of the mouthing off and jaw flappin’ he seemed to do on a daily basis these days. Standing behind a bar had done a lot to bring him out of his hermit-like shell over the past few years. 

One also couldn’t serve liquor, he’d found, unless you knew how to listen to the customers. A pour for a pour, he called it. He’d pour up the round and they would pour their life stories out, one by one. Usually it took no prompting whatsoever but secrets and intimate details flowed forth from loosened tongues like sparkling wine from a the wide mouth of a bottle. 

This was why he was both adored and despised equally across campus. Everyone wanted someone to listen to them, but not everyone wanted that someone to remember those secrets in the light of day. 

“Can I get a Stoli on the rocks, please?” A sweet lilting southern accent drew every syllable out and expounded on it. 

He looked up from where he was pulling a few bottles from the cooler, uncapped them and handed them to the guy in front of him in trade for a wadded up five dollar bill. The woman who had spoken, it was either Megan or her twin sister Michelle, was smiling at him seductively a few feet down. 

“Sure thing sweetheart,” he grinned, safely side-stepping the name issue. “Anything else for ya, darlin?” He asked a minute later as he placed the small tumbler of vodka and ice in front of her. 

She simpered and leaned as far as she could manage across the bar, her pretty fingers curling over the other side and her impressive mostly-exposed rack was laid out before him like a meal on a table. Whatever her name was, it surely wasn’t subtlety. 

“You can tell me you’re goin’ to the party tonight at Alpha Psi.” 

He stopped himself just short of cringing at her words. “I have to work,” he spread his arms out in a helpless gesture, hopefully emphasizing his lack of assistance behind the counter. 

“Maybe after you close, then. Dallas is makin’ it a big ole bash! It’s gonna be amazin’. They said it’s to celebrate school starting but I heard from one of the other girls that he’s really just wantin’ to show off the fact he got elected chapter president.” 

He did wince then. Dallas made president. 

“Dallas… uh, yeah. I don’t think Dallas wants me at his party.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be too distracted to notice. He has a new girlfriend, after all.” She gave him a knowing look. 

Everyone gave him knowing looks when it came to Dallas. They all seemed to know the truth of what happened. If only they knew the _real_ story. 

Still, the news of a new girlfriend was new information to him. He must be slipping. “Does he?” he affected a flat disinterested tone. “Good for him. As for the party…we’ll see.” 

She flashed her bright white teeth between dark red lips as if it were the best news she’d heard all week. “Well, you be sure to find me if you do swing by, sugar.” She paid for the drink with a generous tip and sauntered away, her hips swinging and swaying seductively. And he watched because it’s what she wanted him to do and Dean was nothing if not accommodating. 

The front door opened just then and the little bell above it jingled in response. Dean’s eyes were drawn to the figure standing there as if he were a hero returning from combat. “Y’all can rest easy now! The Garth-man is here!” 

Dean shook his head and started working on a drink for one of the guys sitting at the bar. He didn’t even look up as his friend came around the end of the counter and grabbed the first bottle of whiskey he saw along with two shot glasses. 

“You better go up a few shelves there, dude, because there is no way I’m shootin’ that low-grade gasoline you drink.” 

Garth laughed off Dean’s liquid snobbery and considered the bottles lined up neatly against the ornate gilded mirror on the wall behind the bar. Finally he pulled the best of the best from the top tier and uncapped it, spilling the golden liquor into the miniature glasses. 

“To us!” 

“Rephrase,” Dean demanded, finally turning to face the other man. 

“Alrighty. To… the best dang bartenders in all of…this here bar!” He yelled, thrusting his shot into the air. A few of the regulars perched on nearby stools copied the gesture with their own glasses. 

Dean picked up his shot and touched it to Garth’s with a little clink before tossing it back with a quick flick of his wrist. He gritted his teeth against the smooth burn and nodded at the other man as the familiar heat spread through his extremities. 

“Nice of you to show up.” 

Garth looked around at the packed bar, the easy smile never leaving his face. “Yeah. Sorry. You know I would have been here earlier if I could’ve.” 

“Yeah, I know. Only reason I am not drop-kickin’ your ass right this second.” 

Garth, besides being one of his bartenders at the Hunter’s Point Bar, was also one of Dean’s oldest friends. They were like brothers and Dean didn’t take that lightly. Sure, Garth was a little strange with a boatload of issues but he probably had the biggest heart of anyone Dean had ever known. For those reasons, Garth got away with an awful lot where Dean was concerned. Some would say he got away with more than anyone had a right to. 

Garth immediately fell into the familiar routine of the night alongside him. Opening, pouring, mixing, wiping, chatting… Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as the other man casually snuck sips of something out of a hip flask but he didn’t say anything. Nothing _to_ say. Everyone coped with life in his or her own way. 

Speaking of coping methods… 

“Two dirty martinis, … _extra dirty_.” 

“Erica,” Dean purred as the gorgeous raven-haired beauty took a seat on the stool opposite him. “You’re looking good enough to eat, beautiful.” She came into the bar at least once a week with her girlfriends and Dean had found her to be quite to his liking. She was just his type; smoking hot, a dirty mind with a dirty mouth to match, a disinterest in relationships and she had a pretty welcome penchant for the occasion bj in the staff bathroom when the mood struck. 

“Mmm,” she looked at him coyly from beneath her thick lashes. “I’m sure that could be arranged.” 

He bit his bottom lip and groaned inwardly, already scanning to see if he could sneak into the back without it being too hectic for Garth to handle. 

“Tell you what,” She put a hand on his forearm. “I’m…a little busy right now. But how about you text me when you get off? If this doesn’t work out and I’m free…” She raised her eyebrows and licked her lips. 

Dean felt his lower brain getting the signal loud and clear, but he wasn’t so far gone that his higher brain couldn’t pick up on her presumptuousness. “Sure. If _I’m_ free,” he replied letting her know that he didn’t play backup plan, “I may just do that.” 

She winked at him, unaffected by his reply and he watched her pick up the martinis and walk back to the far corner table where a guy was waiting with a smile on his face. A date perhaps? He looked at the guy for a second and wondered if maybe he was the type to swing both ways. The guy was pretty hot in his own right. Maybe they could share… 

The thought had no sooner popped into his head than the bell over the door gave another happy jingle and a group flooded in, adding a momentary chaos to the nearly settled tavern and overly loud voices to what had become the low buzz of casual chatting. 

The new arrivals, who he saw included several of the guys from Alpha Psi Alpha, took it upon themselves to shove several tables together and elected someone to go forward for beer. “Go on, Freshman!” “Go on, man!” “Get over there!” he heard them call out and then watched as a familiar face emerged from the crowd and crossed towards him. 

Dean saw it. He watched and witnessed the exact millisecond that the freshman noticed him and recognition dawned, his face going from shy excitement to startled and unsure. It was as though he could actually see the guy’s tension vibrating off of him. 

“You,” the guy said in way of greeting, not sounding like a complete asshole but certainly toeing that line. 

“Freshman!” Dean grinned, jutting his chine out in acknowledgment. “How was the first day?” 

The guy rubbed his neck and then put his hands flat on the bar top, looking pretty uneasy as he attempted to look at anything and everything besides Dean. “Um…good, thanks.” 

Dean’s brain immediately filled with pertinent information. 

_Name: Sam Campbell._

_They shared a class: British Lit II with Professor Joyce Mason._

_Mutual acquaintances: Craig Reagan._

_Threat posed: Minimal, unless he was afraid of being nerded to death. Or the kid fell over on him. Seriously, the dude was the size of a Giant Sequoia!_

This is what he was thinking. What he said was, “British Lit right?” 

Sam nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Hey, can I get six beers?” 

Dean stifled a laugh and picked up a towel to give the bar a quick wipe down. “Gonna need you to be a tad more specific there.” 

“Oh – right!” Sam suddenly looked flustered. “Sorry. Two Stellas, three Sam Adams and one...can you do a Black Apple? Guinness and Apple Ale?” 

Dean paused in his movement. “Hmm…a beautiful rich Irish stout ruined by mixing it with an apple ale? Yeah. I can do it. Gonna need to see some ID first, though.” 

The guy looked a little embarrassed to have forgotten this very important step of the transaction but fished the wallet from his back pocket and presented the requested identification for Dean’s inspection. 

Glancing at the Texas drivers license that was flashed at him, he noticed that Sam was twenty-two, just a few years younger than he. He also noted that the id was about as real as the tits on a Playboy centerfold. Oh the job was a good one, serious professional work, but Dean could spot falsified documents at twenty paces. 

Curious but seeing no reason to pry, Dean pulled the beer off the tap and set them up one by one on the bar in front of Sam, saving the Black Apple for last. He managed to keep the Guinness’s foamy head perfectly intact and the black stout floating with flawless retention over the translucent golden apple cider. “So before I hand this over, may I ask who this abomination is for?” 

Sam snorted out a laugh but it seemed as though he might have been a little insulted by the question. “That would be me, actually.” 

“Wow. Freshy.” Dean smirked, completely unable to hide his amusement. He stuck a metal stir stick in the glass and slowly agitated the liquid so that the two were no longer separated but now one consistently dark brew with a thick tan head. “There – to hide your secret shame.” 

“No shame,” he insisted, maybe a little riled now. 

“Uh-huh. Now tell me… how is it that a big strapping guy like you (he added _Height: at least 6’4”_ to his mental rundown) manages to order both the manliest and girliest drink possible in one go?” 

“I-It’s …” Sam looked away, his face falling, and swallowed hard. “It was something someone used to drink. My mom. It reminds me of her.” 

Dean didn’t like this look. The guy had an expression on his face that would have convinced anyone that might walk up to them at this point that Dean had just admitted to running over Sam’s favorite pet. “I’m sure it does,” Dean tried backpedaling with a gentle reply. Or as close to gentle as he got. “She sounds like my kind of woman! Any lady that can handle her Guinness-” 

“She’s gone. Died about a year ago now.” 

Dean felt the familiar pull at his own gut as Sam’s eyes held his. He could hear the soft longing to reach out to the woman that was now out of his reach. He could see the need for any little connection even in passing and in such a simple thing as a drink. 

Dean knew that feeling. He felt it every day. 

“Sorry to hear that,” he said as quietly as he could and still be heard over the din of the bar. “Guess I should rethink my stance on the Black Apple, huh?” 

Before Sam could form a response, Craig sidled up next to him, effectively breaking the somber moment. “Winchester!” 

“Reagan.” Dean response was completely deadpan, not that the other man would ever have noticed. 

“It’s been too long, my man.” 

“Yeah. Hours.” Dean rolled his eyes covertly as he spun to toss a dirty bar rag in a laundry bin hidden out of sight. 

He was a nice enough guy most of the time but Dean only really put up with him because Craig was pledged to Alpha Psi Alpha. What could he do? Dean’s interest in the fraternity trumped his own personal feeling that Craig Reagan was a giant two-faced dill-hole. 

“Say, can you add a glass of red wine to the list?” Dean watched him turn to Sam with a knowing smile. “Sara decided to swing by after all. 

Sam slowly went pink, noticeable even in the subdued lighting of the room. Dean wasn’t sure why but the blush, which went all the way to the tips of the new guy’s ears, made him smile. 

“Feel honored. Sara doesn’t go out of her way for many people but she’s obviously taken a shine to you,” Craig added for good measure. 

Dean grimaced. If they were talking about Sara Donnelly, it was more likely a case of her smelling fresh meat. 

Dean had hit on her a few times in the course of his academic career but she always ignored his attempts. He had it pinpointed now, after seeing her at several subsequent parties. She had a very specific pattern. She tended to lean towards guys that weren’t going to approach her; the shy, adorable, wallflower types. She would wait until their guard was down and then she would approach them, never the other way around. She wanted to be the hunter and not the hunted and she picked her prey by just how much control she thought she might be able to assert over them. 

He couldn’t help but admire her style. 

So the freshman was her new target, then? Poor dude. She would chew him up and spit him out in two weeks flat. Especially with that whole vulnerable puppy dog thing he had going. 

Before uncorking the wine, he poured a quick shot of Jägermeister for the guy and slid it down the bar so that it stopped right beside his now undercover Black Apple. 

“What’s this?” 

“Jäger, Freshy. If Donnelly has you in her sights then you’re gonna need it.” 

Craig chuckled at this and Sam’s face looked like it might go supernova soon. “Thanks. I guess.” 

Dean found himself grinning stupidly at the reaction he’d managed to provoke. He wasn’t sure why but he was intrigued by the new guy. He snuck quick glimpses at him while he was pouring the wine and almost laughed outright when Sam actually sniffed the dark brown shot curiously. Under Craig’s urging, he finally downed the shot in one go then quickly sputtered, shaking his head at the sweet licorice burn. 

Dean did laugh then and stormy eyes snapped his way. 

“That was my first reaction to the stuff too. Too damn syrupy for my taste.” Dean winked at him hoping for no hard feelings and Sam just lowered his eyes and took a palette-cleansing sip of beer. 

“So Dean, where’s the party tonight?” Craig asked after taking a long pull from his bottle of Stella. 

Generally Dean managed to find out about every party in town. There was always a patron or two that would stop there first or maybe an old hookup that would text him in hopes of seeing him again. One way or another he got the invite. He made use of them too. He wasn’t just a bartender. He was the guy on campus that could always be found in the middle of things. He was the one that went all night. He was the one that stood toe to toe with the big boys and played quarters until two in the morning, until everyone was dropping out like flies and his own buzz was still just a phantom of a warm glow. 

“Little bird told me Alpha Psi was the place to be.” Dean would also, as a rule, never give out party locations that he’d received but since Craig was in the fraternity in question he figured it was already common knowledge. 

Craig nodded in confirmation and then asked incredulously, “And you’re going to risk going?” 

The way he asked told him that Craig either thought Dean was a complete moron or utterly brave in a way that no one had ever been brave before. 

Garth had chosen that exact moment to pass and overhear the conversation. He had impeccable timing that way. “Party at A-Psi? You sure you wanna show your face there, buddy?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well I wasn’t sure but now I feel like I have to go just to show you assholes I can handle the shit.” 

“Yeah. ‘Course you can.” Garth slapped his back, heartily, a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t doubt that one bit. Of course last time you said that you ended up hittin’ on one of them blowup sex dolls and peein’ in my closet -” 

“I was drunk! And that was over a year ago!” was all he could say in his defense. That had been an exceptionally odd night. He still wasn’t sure what had happened. 

“Well I don’t know if you heard but Dallas has been elected president.” 

“Yes, Craig. I heard.” He bit out. “And?” 

Craig put his hands up in a gesture that said ‘no offense meant’ or maybe it was ‘I surrender’. Either way the comment had annoyed Dean. 

So the fuck what if Dallas was president, governor or second lieutenant to God? It was still Dallas and Dallas was his ‘in’ with the entire group. 

“So what’s the big deal about you going to this party?” 

Dean’s eyes met Sam’s, a little surprised that he’d finally entered the conversation and he paused choosing his words carefully. “The new president isn’t exactly a big _fan_ of mine right now.” 

“Nope. But his girlfriends usually are!” Garth crowed causing Craig to cough violently as he fought between laughter and swallowing his beer. “Nothing like the host walking in on his best gal on her knees in front of you to ruin a perfectly good party acquaintance, huh?” 

“Oh,” was Sam’s reply, his eyes going a little wide with the explanation. 

For a moment, Dallas and APA and all the shit he’d been through for the past several years fell away and the corners of Dean’s mouth curled in a semi-sadistic smile. He wondered just how innocent Sam Campbell was. He saw the potential for hours of torture and not-so-veiled innuendo in his future. 

“Well, maybe we’ll see you there,” Craig said, gathering up several of their companion’s drinks and indicating with a nod that Sam should grab the rest and follow. “Should prove to be a good show if nothing else,” he heard the guy say as he moved off towards their table. 

Sam paused mid-movement. “Wait. We have to pay,” he turned and sat the drinks back down, reaching once more for his wallet. 

Dean stopped him with a flick of his hand and an easy grin. “S’okay Freshman. First round is on me. You enjoy that Black Apple. Let me know if I made it right?” 

Sam looked at him for a long stretch that was probably just a few seconds but felt so much longer. Finally he nodded and gifted Dean with a genuine half smile, causing a little dimple to appear in his right cheek. Dean idly wondered if that small divot would have a twin should a full-tilt grin be leveled at him. “Thanks.” 

He watched Sam walk back to the table, thinking maybe he should just stop by the party for a minute. Show his face. Put things back on track. 

Just as quickly he put it out of his mind and moved down the bar to help the next patron.


	3. Smooth

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


Sam wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get so lucky, but the universe seemed to be smiling down on him at present. 

In the weeks leading up to that day, he had worried that his new college experience might be like that of Stanford. He had been so insular there. No friends, no parties, no activities outside of books and classes. It was all he could manage at the time since he had been balancing out his parent’s constant need for support and trying to act like he was actually supposed to be there in the first place. 

It was pretty impressive even to him that he’d managed to get through almost three years of college without anyone ever catching on to the fact that he wasn’t actually enrolled, per se. Or rather, Samuel Campbell wasn’t enrolled. There he had been known only as Jeremy Finch and how his English Professors hadn’t picked up on that one was beyond him. In the end, some random paperwork glitch had finally flagged and pushed his falsified social security information to the forefront. 

Once his assumed identity had been discovered, the jig was up and he found himself well and truly screwed. His degree, so close to being complete, was snatched away in a matter of hours. 

The bright spot in the whole situation was that all of his professors as well as the Dean of his college at Stanford had thought so highly of him. They all knew him as a hard worker, studious and knowledgeable. He hadn’t been arrested, which was a major plus. He _had_ been banned from Stanford campus, which was understandable. So he had grabbed his meager belongings and split, but hadn’t gone empty-handed. A sealed brown envelope containing no fewer than nine letters of endorsement had gone with him. 

It was only because of those letters backing him up that the Dean of Nebraska U. had looked so favorably upon him. 

Now, there he was, able to immerse himself fully in everything college could offer without fear of being discovered or pulled away unexpectedly and it was so incredibly liberating. 

Coffee had been an interesting first, for sure. The coffee shop itself was nothing like the run down little hole-in-the-wall diners that he had frequented with his parents while on the road. The place on campus was more of a trendy little ‘extra foam on my triple soy caramel latte thank-you-very-much’ kind of place. It was the kind of place that people went to hold book club meetings or sit for hours on end writing bad poetry as they looked stoically out of the wall of paned glass. He loved it. 

He passed on the fancy lattes the others got, saving himself three or four dollars that he didn’t really have, and opted instead for a straightforward cup of house blend, black. It was a little disappointing to find that it didn’t taste much different than the Folgers he’d pushed through his single-serve coffee maker that morning but he sipped it happily. 

Craig had introduced him to his friends, who were quick to smile and invite him in with friendly words of welcome. There was Lilly and Sara, who were both Poly-Sci majors and pre-law as well, and also Craig’s roommate Will, who was _not_ pre-law but _was_ a philosophy major and, as Will decreed, it was all the same thing more or less. 

Once they found out he was new, they began comparing schedules and filling Sam in on the best places around town. They asked about his dormitory experience so far and started telling him their own horror stories about their spent time living on campus. Sam sat back and laughed with them, content that his day would likely end there and it was a good note to end on. 

It was at this point, when his guard was slightly lowered and his smile felt permanently etched onto his face, that several rowdy guys came through the door laughing loudly and trying to talk over one another. 

The group had startled from the conversation and Sam had been prepared to try and ignore the interruption but suddenly the guys were all descending upon them and grabbing chairs, which they pulled up to the table. They were welcomed with hugs from the girls and fist bumps from the guys and Sam realized the group had suddenly morphed and the energy changed. Suddenly he felt as if he were back a square one, somewhat withdrawn and unsure how to react to the subtle shift in everyone’s personalities. 

“This is Garrett, Phil and Matty. They’re my frat brothers,” Craig had explained. 

The three guys, wearing shirts bearing the Greek letters of their organization, had all whooped “Alpha Psi!” simultaneously as if it were a rehearsed synchronized mating call. It was frankly fascinating. 

“Guys, this is Sam. He’s new.” 

Handshakes, fist bumps and manly grunts of acknowledgement had been traded and it was as if they too accepted him without a second thought, chatting and joking with a natural ease. Sam was struck dumb at his good luck. Not only had he managed to stumble onto a new friend his first day out, but also a whole new group of people that he had quite a bit in common with and who seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to him as well. 

After nursing their cups of coffee for well over an hour, Craig’s brothers had decided that they needed something a bit stronger to toast to a successful first day, the implication being that they were heading to a bar. 

Sam was high on the excitement of meeting new people, talking in ways he had never been able to with peers before, so when Craig had stood with the rest of them and asked “Coming Sam?” it was all he could do not to ‘happy dance’ right in front of them. 

He gave the allusion of thinking about it before giving a terse nod. “I guess I can make myself socially available.” Inwardly he patted himself on the back for sounding so nonchalant. 

After a few short blocks of walking, they arrived at a simple pub, which was crowded but cozy. Straight away, it reminded him of an old fashioned saloon from the Westerns his dad had always watched and had immediately made him feel secure and comforted, though he couldn’t for the life of him place why that might be. 

A long lacquered wooden bar ran the length of the place, long enough to have five or six people sitting comfortably on stools before it. There were probably six or seven simple square tables scattered around as well as a rough-hewn stripped timber platform in the back of the bar that he was sure was supposed to be a stage of some sort. 

Astonishment was too weak a word to describe his reaction as he realized the man behind the bar was Dean Winchester. His last impression of the guy had been that he was pretty much a grade-A jackass. And yet it was that first impression… that hot, rugged bad boy impression that kept rising back to the top without his permission. 

He really, really wanted to be disgusted by the man. Sam wanted to hate him and think he was a shallow jerk, but he couldn’t. 

When Dean had essentially called him a tool for his drink order, it was as if a door had been opened. A box. 

Pandora’s box. 

Suddenly he had been talking to Dean about something he realized now that he had never said aloud. Not once. He’d lived through being told and identifying the bodies. He’d lived through the simple funeral where he’d stood completely alone at the side of the two adjoining burial plots, which he’d used the last of his skimpy savings to purchase. Yet he’d never allowed himself to say the words. 

They died. His mother and father were dead. 

Sam had no clue why he’d chosen to tell Dean the truth, that it had been his mother’s favorite and that it reminded him of her. That she was _gone_. But the look in Dean’s eyes – the instant regret mixed with silent understanding – gave Sam a split second view into what lie beneath the exterior persona. 

There was something deeper there and he wondered why the man didn’t let more of _that_ Dean Winchester shine through. 

Thankfully Craig had saved him from making a complete fool of himself by doing something like actually saying those exact words to Dean. 

Once they were back at the table, he’d turned to his new friend and expressed his shock over seeing Dean slinging drinks. 

Craig just laughed. “Why do you think we come here? Sometimes he slips us free drinks.” He raised his beer as if in proof. “Good to have connections.” 

“And he doesn’t get in trouble for doing that?” Sam had looked back over his shoulder to see Dean busily pulling beer out of a cooler for a couple seated at the end of the bar. 

“Nah. He owns the place.” 

“What?” Sam glanced at Craig quickly before his eyes bungeed back to Dean again. “Seriously?” 

“Part owner,” Will corrected, rolling his eyes at Craig. “Don’t you ever pay attention?” 

Sam couldn’t fathom this. “How? He doesn’t seem old enough…” There was no way the guy was even close to thirty yet. 

Will took a sip of his beer and shrugged. “No one really knows. Maybe it was willed to him or he won it in a bet or something.” 

“What are we talking about? Dean Winchester?” Lilly asked, pulling away from the conversation she had been having with Garrett. She had informed Sam earlier that she called herself the token Asian of the group and from the dreamy look on her face it was apparent that she was the ‘token Asian’ that was smitten with the bartender/owner. “Yeah, that man is definitely an enigma.” It was said as if that were a good thing. 

“Oh, Lil. Don’t go down that road,” Sara shook her head and took her wine from Sam’s hand, their fingers brushing momentarily. She took a sip and gave him a sweet smile of thanks before taking a demure sip. She continued, “Dean Winchester has had half the campus at this point. Not exactly someone to pine after.” 

Sam frowned and looked at the bar in time to see a couple of girls in low cut everything giggling and flirting as he made a show of mixing their cocktails. 

He believed that there was always a lot of fact in fiction and a little bit of fiction in fact. 

He didn’t doubt that Dean Winchester had been around the block but he wondered if maybe some of it was just for show. Either way he didn’t like the way she had dismissed him in a tone that made him sound like he was no better than trash on the ground. 

“According to some of the guys that came before me, he’s been at the school for going on six years now,” Craig added. 

“Jeez. Sixth year senior?” Sam asked. 

“You would think.” Will chimed in. “We can’t figure it out. You would think he’s either stupid, rich or lazy but I’ve seen nothing that would lead me to believe he is any of those things.” 

Craig shook his head at his roommate. “No, I believe he’s intelligent. He just doesn’t like to advertise the fact.” 

“Ok,” Garrett interrupted, effectively ending the conversation at hand. “We gotta split. Just got a text from Dallas that we gotta go pick up the kegs since Matty has the biggest truck.” He looked at everyone at the table. “You guys are comin’ right?” 

“Of course. We’ll be there,” Sara answered for them, cutting her eyes towards Sam. 

Craig stood with the others and clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Sorry to bail but I should head to the house and help with setup, myself.” 

“Okay bye.” Will shooed the guys off with his hands. 

“I suggest you get there no later than eleven. They’re picking up three kegs but I’m betting they will tap out fast. Usually do.” 

“Aye aye, cap’n.” Lilly deadpanned with a mock salute. 

Craig made a face at her and followed the other guys out of the bar. 

Sam looked around the table. Besides himself, there was only Will, Sara and Lilly left and suddenly he was afraid that the once more changed dynamic of the group would leave him floundering. Like, perhaps Craig had been the glue holding conversation together. He had been the one to introduce him into their circle, after all. 

He needn’t have worried. Will had smirked at Sam as soon as they were out of the door. “About time. Now we can have these lovely ladies all to ourselves!” He winked at Sam exaggeratedly so the girls could see and know that he was joking. 

Sam watched, a laugh bubbling up in him, when Will grabbed Lilly’s hand and began kissing it about as gracefully as a puppy kissing a frog in a poor imitation of Gomez Adams. 

Will had then taken it upon himself to head to the bar for a second round for each of them. He came back empty handed. “Winchester said he was gonna bring them over,” he explained. 

Lilly immediately started pushing her hair to one side and adjusting her clothing. Sara gave her a look that could only be read as ‘ _are you serious?_ ’. 

Sam ran his fingers through his own hair and told himself that it was just a habitual movement and not any form of primping or preparation for Dean’s approach. Of course it wasn’t. 

He had a harder time explaining his sudden dry mouth and inability to form sentences as Dean crossed the short distance from the bar with a small tray in his hand. 

“Stella for the lovely Lilly,” he put a bottle in front of the girl who looked like she was seconds from literally swooning. 

“Merlot for Sara.” 

“Sam Adams for the good sir paying.” Will took the tall glass of beer and held it up in salutation. 

“And finally…,” he stood directly behind Sam’s chair and leaned around him to slide a glass onto the table before him. The liquid was dark and the head was so thick that, even though it rose above the lip of the glass, it held its form. “A drink I’ve decided to call… _the Freshman_.” 

Sam turned in his seat to look up at the man hovering above him. Their faces were several inches apart and he swallowed hard at the proximity. “Th-Thanks.” 

Dean gave him the smallest of smiles and a little wink. It wasn’t overtly sexual. It was a simple, nice gesture. …which was simply and nicely giving Sam a semi. 

Hell, the guy even smelled amazing. Like cedar and spice and…something else… 

He shifted uncomfortably in the unpadded chair and forced himself not to watch Dean cross back to the bar. 

Thankfully conversation did not resume on the subject of the bartender. Instead, the other three began a rambling chat. They discussed the party and then talk turned to past parties. Names were thrown around and old stories told. The group was careful not to let Sam get too far out of the loop without including supporting details so that he too could laugh along with the antics of someone aptly nicknamed ‘Short Stack’ and one of Craig’s frat brothers that Lilly liked to refer to as ‘Inappropriate Comment Chris’. 

After a second round was downed, Will leaned back in his seat and scratched at his flat belly. “You guys want food? I’m starving.” 

Lilly looked torn. “I need to go back to my place and change before the party.” 

“We can go to my place. It’s closer. You can borrow something of mine to wear and we can have food delivered.” Sara pulled a sleek laptop bag onto her shoulder and stood, having seemingly decided for them. 

No one else seemed to be protesting or coming up with a better idea so they got up and followed the blonde out of the bar. 

Sam was the last to exit and he reached behind him to pull the door closed. As he did so, he caught a quick glimpse of Dean standing behind the bar, cleaning a glass and smiling his way. Sam jumped as if he’d been caught doing something bad and closed the door quickly, accidentally slamming it. 

He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Smooth, Campbell. Real Smooth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting Chapter 3 & 4 together. Be sure to read both! :)


	4. Party Animal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted Chapters 3 & 4 together. Be sure to read both! :)

  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


It was nearly eleven by the time they arrived at the frat house and the party was already well underway. 

Sam walked beside Will and behind Sara and Lilly as they crossed the manicured lawn towards the two story brick Colonial style house. Beer bottles and red plastic cups lined the edge of the small porch. People stood huddled in groups on the grass, a couple was having harsh words as they stomped off down the brick walkway, and the smell of cannabis hung heavy as they walked into a cloud being produced by two guys that were attempting to covertly pass a rolled joint between them. 

Loud percussion-heavy music filtered out and grew in volume any time someone opened the door to go in or out. 

Once they were inside, it was an immediate press into a wild dancing throng. Several groups of girls were dancing in the general vicinity of one another, almost all of them with red cups in their hands as they weaved and swayed to the rhythm. Guys would occasionally approach, sometimes successfully pulling the girls away from the little gangs and into their clutches. Couples paired off and were grinding against each other, some shamelessly making out in the middle of the floor. Hands were everywhere and Sam was slightly shocked by the amount of PDA he had witnessed just within the span of a few minutes. 

It was just like what he imagined a high school dance might be like if it were filmed in the genre of soft-core porn. 

It took him a few minutes to adjust to the loud stereo enough to hear when someone was speaking to him as Lilly was now. 

“What?” he yelled, pointing to his ear and shaking his head. 

“I said, we’re going to get beer. Want to come with?” 

He nodded and followed her through the pulsing crowd, in and out of a winding hallway, and finally to a large open kitchen. Once there, the sound of the music in the front room was slightly muffled, making it easier to converse. 

“Hey!” He heard Craig cry out at their entrance. “You guys made it!” He shuffled over and gave Sam and Will overly enthusiastic high fives before grabbing Lilly and waltzing her once around the room. Finally he picked Sara up and squeezed her happily, slurring, “My friends!” Sara waved her hand in front of her face and grimaced. “You smell like a brewery.” 

“It’s called pacing yourself, Craig.” Will replied to his roommate, laughter in his voice. 

“Pacing, sh-shmacing!” Craig raised a cup to them and then took a sip. “Keg’s through there,” he used his cup to point and realized it was almost empty in the process. Another long sip and it was gone. “C’mon,” he said obviously intent on getting more beer himself. 

“Three dollars a piece,” a young guy in an APA shirt said, standing guard over the large metal keg that rested in trashcan packed with ice. He looked at them expectantly and cradled a sleeve of cups in the crook of one arm. 

Craig waved him off. “Fuck that, Lex. These are my people. ‘Sides, we had expenses and cost of the kegs covered like twenty people ago.” 

The guy pulled out a cup for each of them and Craig filled each one in turn from the tap. 

While Sam was waiting patiently, he peered through of the kitchen windows that faced out to the backyard, which also happened to be filled with partygoers. The whole area was lit by a dozen long strands of white Christmas lights suspended across fence lines and in and around the two thick trunk oak trees that towered above the house. They cast a soft white glow over everything around. 

The lights were pretty and struck a chord in Sam. 

He recalled a Christmas growing up when his mom had decided they would actually celebrate the holiday. He must have been about eight or nine. He’d heard and seen so much about the festivities on television and in books – his windows to a mainstream reality, which he had never known much of – and was excited to experience it for himself. Everyone was always portrayed as being so happy at Christmas. Except Ebenezer Scrooge, of course, but he didn’t really count as in the end even the miserable old miser found a renewed joy and faith in mankind on that special day. 

They had been holed up at a hotel in northeast Florida; waiting for some monster or other to rear it’s ugly head. It had been completely out of the blue but his mom had gathered him up and announced her intentions. His father hadn’t said a word. He just drove them to the nearest store and stood there as his mother had picked out a puny Christmas tree from the parking lot ‘Christmas Tree farm’ and then grabbed a handful of decorations from the cheap general store. 

Sam had marveled at the shiny decorations. The red plastic balls covered in thin layers of glittering foil, the thumb-sized wooden soldiers, a pack of silver plated bells that his mom had called Sleigh bells as she told him a story about how Santa sometimes came to children’s houses after he was done hanging around the malls. He’d sat enthralled, fingering a package of tensile and imagining the strange ruddy-faced man breaking in to houses to give out toys. 

They had the tree almost completely decorated. A strand of simple white lights were already lit to point out spots that needed more ornaments. He and his mom were merrily humming and singing the few carols that he knew. That’s when the phone rang. 

One look at his dad’s face and he had known they were leaving. An emergency in Mississippi. There wasn’t even a chance to finish decorating the tree. They just dropped everything and left the mess there for the underpaid motel staff to pick up after they’d gone. 

“Sam? Hey, Sam!” 

He shook his head to rid himself of the memory, blinking until he was back in the present. “Wha-,” 

“Dude, did you hear a word I said?” 

Sam looked at Craig and searched his memory. He shook his head. 

Craig chuckled and wrapped an arm around Sam’s neck, pulling him down to his level since Sam was several inches taller. “This guy,” he said to whomever might be listening. “I wanted you to meet our prez.” 

Sam’s head remained trapped in Craig’s innocuous choke hold so he shuffled along obligingly beside his friend. 

“Dal! Dallas!” Craig yelled at the top of his lungs. 

The guy in question was on the opposite side of the island in the center of the kitchen but by the way Craig was yelling, you would have thought the guy was across the street. 

Dallas turned around and arched a brow. “Reagan! Can the screamin’, bro. I’m right the fuck here.” 

Craig looked unperturbed by the guy’s reaction. In fact he just snickered and pointed with his cup hand at Sam. “Dallas… Wanted you to meet m’new friend. Sam – Sammy Campbell. He’s awesome, DB. I think we should consider him.” 

“Consider me? For what?” Sam asked, but the question was ignored. 

“Dallas Baker. Nice to meet you Sammy,” Dallas thrust a tanned hand in his direction and Sam met the firm handshake with one of his own. 

“It’s Sam,” he corrected with a smile, trying now to dislodge himself from Craig’s strong hold. 

Dallas finally seemed to realize he would need to get a reign on the situation. “Reagan. Why don’t you go check and see if the guys are bringing the last keg inside like I asked them.” 

Craig paused and seemed to sober a little. “Um…yeah. Sure thing, prez.” His arm dropped from Sam’s neck and slithered from his shoulders as Craig moved off into another part of the house. 

“Sorry. Craig’s one of my best guys. He’s like a brother to me. But some genius started the drinking games before anyone else even got here and unfortunately no one has ever informed him that he sucks at beer pong.” 

Sam actually laughed at that, imagining his seemingly sophisticated classmate playing something as lowbrow as beer pong. Especially after all of his talk of political aspirations. Of course, maybe that was exactly the kind of game a future senator played. What did Sam know about it? 

“No problem. He seems to be having a good time and that’s what it’s about right?” The words came freely as he was still riding the buzz of his earlier drinks. He always had been a lightweight when it came to drinking. Even the pizza they’d ordered and polished off at Sara’s hadn’t been enough to reverse the effects of the alcohol. 

“Damn right,” Dallas answered, raising his beer until Sam took the cue to tap his cup against the other. “So you just met Craig?” 

“We have a class together. He found out I’m pre-law –,” 

“And he tripped all over himself. Am I right?” 

Sam shrugged. He wasn’t sure that was exactly how he’d phrase it but… 

“Not a lot of you pre-law kids out there but somehow he manages to find you.” He shook his head and smiled to himself as he took a quick drink. “The dude has a serious hard-on for the law. It would be annoying if I wasn’t counting on him to get me out of speeding tickets for the rest of my life.” 

Sam laughed, as he was sure he was expected to do, but he wasn’t altogether certain that the last statement hadn’t been one of fact. 

“Well any friend of Craig’s is a friend of mine. So…enjoy the party. Make yourself at home.” 

Sam nodded and watched as Dallas turned back to a girl that seemed to be waiting for him to acknowledge her once more. When their attention was no longer on him, he allowed himself to take in the picture before him. 

Dallas looked like one of those glorious All-American boys. Blonde hair, striking blue eyes and Abercrombie ad good looks that made it seem more likely he’d come out of some life-size Ken Doll factory than made in the same base way as other mere mortals. 

Next to him, the girl looked a little plain but pretty nonetheless. She was well over a foot shorter than Dallas and looked as though she felt about as out of place as Sam did at that party. 

Dallas wrapped his arm around her waist and then fed her beer from his cup as he whispered in her ear. She finished it off and together they laughed before he handed over the cup and she moved to the keg for more. 

The couple didn’t look right together at all, he decided. She seemed a little on the wholesome side while Dallas… he wasn’t sure what Dallas seemed like really. 

But again… what did he know?  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


By half past one, there was an entire group of people congregated around the kitchen in a loose circle. Several members of Alpha Psi Alpha were on one end, chatting about a meeting to brainstorm for the upcoming pledge drive and Sam was trying not to look too lost as he stood on the fringes of a conversation where he had absolutely no input. 

He’d been around the party twice. Stood in the yard for a while chatting with a few people that recognized him from his earlier French class. He’d hung out and sat upwind as Will and a few other guys passed a joint around in one of the bedrooms and waxed poetic. He’d been forced to dance for an entire massively uncomfortable song between Lilly and Sara, immediately fleeing as soon as the song faded, much to their amusement. 

One thing he could say was that this day had ended up nothing at all like he thought he would when he’d rolled out of bed that morning. 

He felt a hand slide up his arm and grab onto his bicep, which he flexed instinctively. 

“Hey…Sam,” a tipsy Sara murmured in his ear. Well, technically it was towards his ear as she was several inches shorter than he. “I’m so glad you let Craig drag you out to meet us. Glad you came to the party too.” 

Sam smiled down at the beautiful blonde hanging off of his arm. Her hands were massaging the firm muscles beneath her fingers and she was making breathy little humming noises as she did this. It was hard not to laugh because she was gazing up at him with ever so slightly unfocused glassy eyes but he could tell she was attempting to look enticing. 

He’d flirted with girls before. He’d kissed and romanced. He had a lifetime’s experience playing bit roles in the line of duty. His previous profession had demanded all manner of deception and doing what it took to get the job done. When called for, he had been Don Juan, Mr. Darcy, and Lloyd Dobler all rolled into one. But in real life, where real people were involved and there were no monsters in sight, he was clueless. 

He could feel his face warming under her intense scrutiny and knew he had to say something. Typically he would have made some excuse to distance himself from the situation. But normally he didn’t have several cheap cups of Budweiser flowing through his system either. 

“Yeah,” he started, covering her hand with his own and patting gently as one might an elderly relative. “Me too. It was really great of you guys to include me.” 

She hummed and pushed herself closer, up against his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was a clumsy attempt at flirtation or if she was simply getting wobbly on her sky-high heels. “Any time, tall, dark and delicious.” She giggled. “What do you say, after this… How about you take me home?” 

Alarm bells sounded in Sam’s head. 

He had been hoping against hope that he was reading signals wrong, but apparently not. “Um, I don’t actually have a car,” he tried for feigned innocence, which usually worked for him as he’d found in the past that people tended to look at his large stature and immediately subtract IQ points. 

“Alright,” she went on, undaunted. “What if…I take you home?” 

Damn but she wasn’t going to make this easy. “I..don’t really…well, you see…” 

_Okay, Campbell_ , he told himself. _You wanted honesty and living your own life. Here’s your chance._

“Sara, you aren’t so much my type.” Her pained look had him backing up quickly. “No-no-no. That came out all wrong.” He put an arm around her shoulders and smiled warmly at the girl. “You don’t have the right…equipment. If you catch my drift?” 

“Oh.” She said simply. Sam watched the light bulb penetrate the fog in her near-drunken mind. “Oooh… Wow. Really?” She pulled back and looked him up and down as if there might be a hidden rainbow patch on his clothing or mark on his exposed skin that announced his sexual preference. The chagrin on her face was more than enough apology. She seemed like a nice person and he had a feeling the mortification would be twice a bad with the onset of morning and new found sobriety. 

Without warning, there was suddenly someone jostling him and pushing hard into his back, forcing him forward and Sara, who had still been pressed against him, sprawling onto the ground. Pulling her up first and checking to see that she was okay, Sam whirled to find the source of the ruckus. 

“Just let it go, man,” A beefy guy said, physically restraining Dallas with arms grasping his elbows. 

Dallas, Sam could see from his point of view, was snarling and spitting at the person he was being restrained from getting to. “You prick! You have a lot of nerve walking into this house!” 

Sam craned his neck around the crowd that had suddenly surrounded the two as if smelling a fight brewing. The opponent somehow simultaneously did and did not surprise him. 

Dean Winchester stood stone faced, his jaw jutting forward obstinately. He didn’t move, simply followed Dallas’s movement with his eyes. He held up his hands. “Just came to have a good time. Not here to fight.” 

“Too damn bad because you walked right into one.” 

“Look, Dallas, I get it. You’re pissed. But you have to get over it sometime.” 

“No. I don’t.” 

Dean edged closer, “Dude, be cool. It’s been months. I did you a favor – obviously she wasn’t the type to be faithful. I saved you weeks, maybe years of a shit relationship. Maybe even an expensive divorce and half your worldly possessions. Don’t be the jerk that can’t let things go.” 

“Let things go?” Dallas parroted, struggling anew to get out of his friend’s lock on his arms. 

One thing Sam noticed was that where there were five or six guys gathered at Dallas’s side in defense of their brother, not a single soul moved to stand beside Dean. In fact, the circle that surrounded the pair was all congregated in more of a semi-circle, everyone stepping as far away from Dallas’s focus of wrath as they possibly could. 

His heart lurched at the sight. Maybe it was that part of him that had fought all his life for the underdogs. He had worked to save those that couldn’t save themselves. No matter how much the guy had annoyed him before and even though by all accounts the guy likely did deserve what he got there, Sam couldn’t allow him stand on his own. 

He made his way through the edge of the building crowd, his intentions to situate himself between the men, when he heard Dean’s hollow laugh. 

Sam froze. 

Was the guy _trying_ to get himself killed? 

“One punch. C’mon Baker. You can have one swing, hard as you want, but that’s it. It’s over after that.” 

Dallas stopped struggling and looked hard at Dean, standing with his arms open, inviting whatever he might unleash. The big guy that had been holding him seemed to realize there had been a shift in tension because he released Dallas and stepped back. 

“One punch?” 

Dean nodded. 

“Anywhere?” 

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if seeing what was coming. “You know what? Yeah. Just… let’s put this shit behind us.” 

Dallas tilted his head and two of his buddies walked forward, grabbing Dean’s arms and holding him in place. 

“Is that really necessary?” 

Sam, like everyone else, looked around to see who had said that and then it occurred to him that it was his own voice ringing in his ears. 

Apparently they did, in fact, think it was necessary because the guys didn’t budge. 

“Let him go!” Sam said harder this time, owning the words and stepping out into the center of the circle. 

Dean’s eyes found his and he scowled, probably wondering why Sam was sticking his nose in. “Stay out of it, Freshman!” he barked. 

Sam looked at him long and hard, seeing steely determination that he knew he would not sway. It was a look he knew well. He took a step away but did not blend himself back into the mass of bodies around them. Instead he stood slightly out, ready to move if needed. 

Dallas, smiling tightly, moved in. “This, Winchester, is for disrespecting me,” his punch landed square on Dean’s right cheek, “my home,” the next was a well placed uppercut that landed beneath his chin snapping Dean’s head backwards with the thrust, “betraying a trust” came with a jab to the stomach, “and this one is for acting like you’re better than everyone else when all you are is just fuckin’… scum,” the last blow was a sharp knee directly to the groin. 

Every male in the room winced and groaned in a synchronized symphony of sympathy. 

They released Dean’s arms and he dropped to the floor, his hands at his privates. He curled over himself and his forehead momentarily rested on the floor as he processed and breathed through the shock and pain of the well-placed blows. 

The crowd, as if realizing the show was over, began to disperse, acting as though there wasn’t a man lying on the floor in agony. 

Immediately moving next to Dean, Sam knelt and put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Hey… Dean? You okay?” 

He heard a deep chuckle emanating from the lump on the floor and Dean turned his head so he could see Sam out of the corner of his eye. “That’s a pretty dumb question Freshy. Thought you were supposed to be some braniac or somethin’.” He slowly sat back on his heels and squeezed his eyes shut as he was overcome with either pain or dizziness. Likely both. He touched the back of his hand to his mouth and it came away spotted with blood. Sam mused that had probably bitten his lip on the impact of the uppercut. “Said one fuckin’ shot. Can’t trust anyone these days, I guess.” 

Sam sniffed and smiled at the irony of the statement. Dean attempted to return the smile but it came out as more of a grimace. 

“Are you… do you need help? I can… well I can’t offer you a ride – no car. But I can help you to _your_ car?” 

“Help me to my car? Fuck that!” He shook his head. “Get me a beer and I am golden.” 

“You can’t be serious.” Sam looked around them, the partygoers had returned to their conversations and were completely oblivious to the two guys sitting in the middle of the floor. It was as though nothing had ever happened. 

“Freshman… there are two things I don’t joke about. Parties and sex.” He looked up at a pretty blonde girl who waved at him from the corner and Sam saw him work up a slightly less grimacing smile and nod in her direction. “This is currently the spot where both are most likely to collide. So…this is where I stay.” 

“Alright. If you’re sure.” Sam wasn’t convinced but there was no rational reason for him to argue the point. After all, he really didn’t even know the guy. 

Dean looked at him for a long moment, the bravado he was throwing out cleared just a bit to expose a somber gaze. “Thanks for the offer, man. Really. You’re…you seem like a good guy. But, if you’ll excuse me…” And like that, the seriousness vanished in a heartbeat as if it had been a trick of the light. Dean stood slowly and crossed towards the girl, only a minor hitch in his gate. 

“Hey there sweetheart.” Sam heard him say as Dean’s arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulders. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Ever heard of Florence Nightingale?” 

Sam scratched his head and looked around again from his spot on the ground. 

_That’s what you get for trying to help, Campbell. Should be used to it by now._

He made his way back to the kitchen but didn’t see anyone from the group he came with. He didn’t really feel like striking up banal conversation with strangers any longer, nor did he want to stand around nursing the skunky beer any longer either. 

All of a sudden he felt like Cinderella sitting atop a pumpkin that had moments ago been a carriage. The magic seemed to have dissipated and now he just wanted to head home. 

He couldn’t feel too bad. As far as first days went, his was pretty damn amazing. Shrugging off the slight edge of disappointment at it being over, he texted Craig that he was heading out, thanked the guy for inviting him, and started the cross-campus walk back to his dorm room.  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

  


Dean watched the freshman walk out the door of the party alone and frowned around the wet paper towel Michelle was holding against his busted lip. 

He wasn’t sure what to make of the guy. 

It was obvious that he was pretty smart if he was a freshman taking upper class courses. 

It was also obvious that the guy was working overtime to seem put together even around his painful bouts of shyness or nervousness. 

Yet underneath that ‘trying-too-hard’ exterior of Lacoste button downs, pleated khakis and loafers, there was something about him that struck Dean as strangely familiar. The way he carried himself spoke of a man fairly comfortable in his physicality but the way he acted was… off. Like he wasn’t sure how to mix with people. It reminded him of someone else he knew but the connection wouldn’t take shape. 

When he’d heard Sam try to interject on the little show of testosterone upon his arrival, Dean had automatically snapped at him to stand down. He didn’t need some kid that had no idea what was happening putting his nose in where it didn’t belong. 

He had made the mess, he was going to unmake it. 

But one look in his direction and Dean had done a double take. Gone was the newcomer that could blush with the frequency of a nun that was riding shotgun with a seasoned trucker, and in his place stood a mountain of solid strength. Sam had looked as surprised as Dean felt that the words were coming out of his mouth, but there was a strong feeling of power behind those words. 

The morons that had been busy holding his arms like vice grips wouldn’t have sensed it, what with them _being_ morons with no true sense of self-preservation, but Dean had felt it. It was the timbre a voice took on when someone knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they could back up what they were saying. 

If Dean hadn’t been looking down the barrel of an ass kicking, he would have stopped to appreciate that the scene was fucking hot beyond all hotness. 

He had mixed emotions about the fact that the guy had stood up for him at all. He didn’t even know Dean. 

Maybe he was a big sucker for the underdog. Hell, for he knew the kid was Superman. 

There had been people in Dean’s life, still a couple left, that would have gone to bat for him. That would have stood by his side. But they were mostly long gone and he was used to fighting his own battles. 

No. Dean was no underdog and was a far cry from helpless. 

He’d taken his licks. He’s squared it with the man that ran the show and now he would be ‘in’ again and for his purpose that’s all that mattered. 

As if Dean had summoned him with his thoughts, Dallas Baker approached warily but with only the smallest hint of remorse on his face and a cup of beer in each hand. 

In his wake, came a sweet looking brunette who couldn’t have been over five foot four and who looked wide-eyed and tipsy but more in awe of being on Dal’s arm than actually drunk. It must have been Dallas’s new flame, he surmised. 

“All good now?” Dean asked gruffly, still feeling the radiating ache of the knee to the family jewels. 

Thrusting the cup into Dean’s hand, the other man’s smile spread into a shit-eating grin. He leaned in close, hot breath against Dean’s neck. “You and I… all good. Just try and remember…no touching my property. _Especially_ my girl. Got it?” 

Dean inclined his head with a small devilish smile of his own. “Fair enough.” They knocked their Solo cups together and then both drained them simultaneously. “Now where’s that fuckin’ keg? I think I need a refill!” 

Michelle giggled and latched on to Dean’s side as he went towards the beer but not before he felt Dallas’s fingertips skim up discreetly underneath his shirt, scraping lightly at the firm skin just above the fly of his jeans, promising that Dean was still very much on his radar. 

Even though the girl might be off limits to Dean, Dallas was apparently still very much on the touching encouraged list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to everyone that has commented and encouraged!! I promise this is going somewhere and I appreciate you sticking with me!


	5. Monday, Monday

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

_Finally! It’s Monday!_

This was Sam’s first thought as he quickly silenced the alarm on his phone. 

From across the room, there came a low groan from the mound of covers. 

Sam held his breath and waited for the inevitable comment. 

“Ser’s? E’ry damn morn’n?” came the grumbling, sleep-thickened voice of his roommate. The dark gray comforter shifted as the body beneath it rolled over and within seconds the sounds of muffled snores filled the small space. 

Nathan, the roommate in question, was a freshman like him. The difference was he was a true freshman at all of eighteen years old. The four year difference didn’t seem like a lot until it did. Nathan’s major was officially ‘undeclared’, most of his free time was spent playing something called Skyrim, and he had developed a healthy hatred for Sam merely based on the fact that when he’d asked Sam if he played something called Magic the Gathering, Sam had gone on an accidental four minute rant about the dangers of occultism. 

The tenuous relationship was further strained as Sam refused to adhere to Nathan’s night-owl tenancies and insisted instead on setting his alarm every single day to wake him at five-thirty. 

Sam couldn’t exactly blame Nathan. He knew that to many people five-thirty was a fairly normal time to wake up but to a college student it may as well have been the middle of the night. Still Sam figured he would stop blaring his alarm at five-thirty when Nathan’s Argonian warrior stopped fighting dragons until well past two. 

Folding his covers back so that he could pull his legs from his tightly tucked sheets, Sam rolled and dropped gracefully with no hesitation down onto the carpeted floor and began counting out fifty pushups in rapid succession. He then turned and did fifty sit-ups. He figured he would leave it at that this morning, however. Tomorrow he would do the long set. 

Grabbing his shorts and t-shirt from where they were neatly folded on the edge of his desk, he did a quick change and then headed out, stopping only to take a quick piss in the dreaded communal bathroom. 

This was one thing he still wasn’t used to and a part of the college experience he didn’t really care for either. 

Communal bathrooms weren’t new to him, having had to use truck stops from time to time on long cross-country trips with his parents. The lack of privacy had always frustrated him and to a guy that spent the entirety of puberty directly under the watchful eye of his parents, privacy was everything. 

The dawn air was crisp for early September and he delighted in it as he stepped outside of the dormitory and onto the sidewalk that ran along the front of the tall block building. He twisted and then lifted his knees up to his chest one at a time before taking off at a gentle lope in the opposite direction of the main campus. 

There was nothing like the quite calm of a morning jog. 

As it was every morning since his parents had finally allowed him to go off on runs alone, he mentally mapped out a trail that would give him approximately three miles in front of him. It was a holdover from his past life, when he had needed the endurance and strength that it gave him. Now he did it to think. It cleared his head in a way that nothing else seemed to. 

In those three miles he planned his day. Sometimes he reflected on things that had happened, whether it was something recent or years prior. Occasionally it gave him the time and space in which to not think at all if that was what he needed. 

Today he found himself reflecting. 

As he made his way around the perimeter of campus, he thought about Friday and about his new friends. 

Sara had gotten his number from Craig and called him early Saturday afternoon. Just as he predicted, she had been embarrassed by the fact that she had so blatantly come on to him. She had apologized and blamed it on too much cheap beer and then immediately began trying to plan a trip to the mall with him. Now that she knew he was gay, she apparently thought she had a built in shopping buddy. He hadn’t said anything at the time not wanting to make matters worse but he would have to shut that stereotypical nonsense down post-haste before he actually found himself shopping for fabulous shoes or lady’s lingerie or something equally damaging to his psyche. 

Craig had texted him much later in the day, talking about the hangover from hell, cursing drinking games and the bastards that had talked him into playing. All the same, he’d told Sam he was glad he’d made it out to the party. 

Sunday, Craig had sent him a simple four-word text. 

**_Lunch. Noon. Be outside._**

After a half-hour of simultaneously getting himself ready and wondering with building paranoia if maybe Craig had meant to text that to someone else but texted him on accident, a beat up old brown Volvo had screeched to a halt right in front of his dorm. Will was in the driver’s seat and Craig’s sprawled out in the back seat as if he were being chauffeured around. Sam had wondered if it were possible to sprain your face from smiling so much. It seemed that he had been measured and found to their liking. 

Halfway through his run, his path took him towards the small strip of roadway that housed the coffee shop, a few deli-style restaurants and several bars. He ran past what he recognized as being the bar they’d gone to Friday night and snorted outright at the name of the place, marked in red on an old hanging wooden sign above the door, which he had somehow missed seeing before. 

_The Hunter’s Point_. 

Fairly ironic considering his own background, he thought. 

This, without fail, lead him to thinking about the one thing he’d been working all weekend to put out of his mind. 

The bartender. Dean Winchester. 

It was a name that hadn’t been far from Sam’s mind since that night. It had buzzed around the edges of his thoughts like a pesky fruit fly circling a banana. 

Like it or not, Dean had become the new staple in Sam’s suddenly rich fantasy-filled dreams. His traitorous mind was intent on driving him insane with nighttime renditions of how Dean might look hovering over him. How he might feel pressed against his back… Oh his subconscious was definitely a heartless bitch. 

Of course his mind was focused on more than just how completely attractive and edible the guy was. There had also been dreams of Dean in a shadowy alleyway, being attacked by something sizeable and fierce. Sam knew monsters and it was no monster he’d ever seen before – patchy hair across mottled lumps of skin, slimy silver mucus oozing from it’s pores, no eyes to be detected but teeth so intimidating that sharks would have cowered. 

Sam chalked that one up to the fact that he’d felt Dean had been threatened. He’d witnessed him being punched and beaten and surely it was just his natural instinct to protect. 

It didn’t matter either way. Dean had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t need protecting. He’d also made it fairly clear that he was straight so really there was no point dwelling on the man at all. 

His feet had taken him all the way around college grounds to a quaint street lined with oak trees and a long row of two and three-story brick buildings, all with Greek letters adorning their facades. This is where the party had been. The lawns, which had been strewn with trash only a few nights before, now looked pristine and manicured. Most of the places looked alike and he might have been hard-pressed to pick the exact location if he hadn’t been familiar with the Greek alphabet. 

Passing the Alpha Psi Alpha house, he got a giddy little jolt of satisfaction. This was the site of his very first college party. 

He carried on, running the length of the quad. Its freshly mown grass was like diamond tipped emerald in the first light of day. He knew the dew would eventually fall away under the heat of the sun or a path trod by feet crossing towards early classes. Yet in that moment all was holding that short-lived perfection that came with newness. 

Even though he knew it was slightly melodramatic, he hoped that the excitement and joy he was feeling now at the beginning of this adventure in academia wasn’t going to be as fleeting as all of that. He resigned himself to enjoy every moment he could having learned the lesson many times over of how quickly things could be gone. 

Finally back at the dorm, he opted to take the stairs all the way up to his room on the eighth floor where he found Nathan still snoring beneath his covers. He eased his way quietly back into the room choosing not to create any further issues by waking the guy up again. 

Pulling off his sweat-drenched shirt, he sat down on the edge of his bed to divest himself of his running shoes as well and took a moment to glance at the framed picture of his parents that sat on the small desk near his bed. The picture was probably ten years old but it was one of the only images he had of them together. His mom and dad were locked in a tight embrace and they were smiling towards the camera even though their eyes were fixed forever on one another. It was a look he’d always seen on their faces. That near inability to see anything outside of the one you loved. They may have had their problems but they were soul mates. Sam had never doubted it for a minute. 

The corners of his mouth lifted. “Mornin’,” he whispered. 

His heart squeezed just like it did each time he thought of his parents. They had only been gone a little over a year now. Felt like a lot longer. Then again, the pain sometimes felt so fresh it cut into him as though it had only happened yesterday. 

“I have to go. I have a French class to get to at nine and I have to eat breakfast first.” 

He recalled his mother forcing granola bars and fruit on him as they drove unceasingly for what felt like days on end. 

“Breakfast is a must, Sam,” she’d say. “Fuel for the day.” 

After a quick shower and the adventure of getting ready without making a sound, Sam packed his bag and ran out the door, whistling once he hit the sidewalk for the second time that morning. 

French, Sociology and British Lit. His second day of classes. He couldn’t wait.  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

  


_Shit. It’s Monday._

That was the first thought Dean had as he chucked his pillow at the offending noise coming out of his alarm clock. He blinked his eyes slowly, yawning and smacking his lips and stretching his limbs out in every direction, hard and long like a cat. 

Weekends just weren’t long enough. 

Since he’d started running the bar, weekends, as he’d always known them, no longer really existed. Sundays were the only days he kept for himself. No working, no school, just him and twenty-four hours of Dean time. 

The first year had been the hardest. He had been convinced that he would collapse completely if he stopped for even a moment. He’d seen it happen to Ellen. The second she stopped she had broken down. So he pushed on and as time wore on, his skin had thickened to the workload and he had finally allowed himself that single day of rest. 

That didn’t change the fact that, like most people his age, he could still use another three or four hours of sleep. 

He wouldn’t get it today though. 

Throwing his covers off, he sluggishly pulled his legs around so his feet rested on the cool wooden floor and scratched his chest absently then stretched and yawned a little more. 

He squinted at the alarm clock on his desk. Half past ten. 

_Shit._

Apparently he had slept through the first alarm. Now he would need to haul ass if he planned to make it to his eleven o’clock Psychology class. 

Slinking onto the floor with a dull thud, he rolled onto his stomach and counted out twenty-five sluggish pushups, as was the usual morning wake-up routine. On more motivated days it was forty or fifty but this was not one of those days. 

Crossing towards the door, he stopped by the closet and grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt from the laundry basket overflowing with partially folded but not yet put away clean clothes. He told himself that he would get around to these things eventually but he couldn’t say it was high on his list of priorities. Ever. 

Dean hopped in the shower just long enough to rub a little soap on the important parts and shampoo his hair, then toweled off and slid into his clothes, hating that his skin was still just damp enough for the clothes to stick unpleasantly. 

He glanced at his phone and swore. Ten forty-eight. 

Looks like there was no time for coffee. 

Grabbing his bag from where it had been dropped Friday afternoon beside the front door, he kissed his index finger and placed it quickly against the small framed photograph on the wall. It was of a young blonde girl sitting on a front porch step, situated between a younger Dean and Garth. 

“Mornin’ Jo.” He whispered roughly. 

It had been three years since they lost Jo. Three years of him letting her down. He was getting closer though, he could feel it. 

Checking the time again, he rushed out the door and down the enclosed stairs that ran parallel with the bar. Pulling the second door closed at street level and making sure it was double locked, Dean looked down the sidewalk that led to campus. Eight blocks to class… ‘Baby’ – a cherry ’67 Chevy Impala that had been a guilt gift from his dad - would get there faster but parking on campus was forever a bitch. Best to leave the car and hike it. 

With one last irritable huff and a roll of his eyes, Dean sucked it up and started hoofing it to class.  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


Sam was going to be late and late was absolutely not something he liked to be. 

His day had started off so well. In French he had learned quite a bit of new vocabulary and had been assigned a great conversational study partner as far as he could tell. 

Ben, who sat next to him in the cramped classroom, apparently already knew French, he just needed an easy credit. Taking the opportunity after class to get to know the person that would single-handedly keep him from falling on his face en français, he and Ben had hung out, grabbing an early lunch. 

Sam told Ben vague stories and half-truths about a semi normal family upbringing that included a lot of hopping around. He used his go-to ‘military life’ story that never really begged much in the way of questions. 

Ben, in turn, told Sam all about his own travels with the Peace Corp. He was easy on the eyes and just as easy to talk to and Sam wasn’t sure but he thought the guy might have been flirting with him. 

After his Sociology class, Sam had managed to bend his professor’s ear for the better part of twenty minutes on Karl Marx and the culture of capitalism. The professor had seemed sufficiently impressed with his knowledge on the subject, but Sam didn’t care about impressing the man. 

He wanted to make good impressions of course, but more than that, he wanted to leave college knowing he had made the most of every moment of the experience. He wanted to make friends and be involved. He wanted to learn more, do more, and mine every source of information possible while it was at his fingertips. His professors were fountains of knowledge, and it would be foolish to ignore that. 

When it had finally occurred to him to check the time, he said a hasty goodbye, knowing he would have to book it to make it across campus in time for Lit.  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

  


There was a chance that Dean was going to kill someone. 

He had been locked out of his first classroom along with all other latecomers. 

The psychology professor being a raging dickhead really should not have come as such a surprise. He was fairly sure the man was doing this as some sort of experiment in human conditioning. 

As he headed back to his place to crash for the hour of freedom he had just regained, a text came from Amy, the best bartender they had, aside from him, of course. 

**_Eloping with Justin. You need to find someone else to open the next few days._**

He grunted and immediately called her instead of texting back. 

“What do you mean you can’t open?” he said, ignoring the first part of her text completely. 

Her utter failure to stay out of a serious relationship was her singular character flaw. He would overlook it. But cutting out on him on such short notice was just fucked up. 

“I mean that I’m already halfway to Vegas.” 

“Well…turn around!” he blustered. 

That had gone over something like a lead balloon and abruptly the call was ended from her side. 

Grumbling but resigned, he had called Ellen to see if she could send in reinforcements from the ‘mother ship’, as he liked to call the original Hunter’s Point Bar which was about forty or so miles outside of town. 

Ellen promised to have him a sub within a few hours which meant he would need to open the doors at noon and take stock delivery when it came around one. Looking mournfully up at the front of the building, eyeing the window that looked in on his bedroom, he kissed his chance for more sleep goodbye and let himself into the back entrance of the bar. 

By the time Cody, a great guy but not exactly a conversationalist, showed up from Ellen’s to relieve him, it was nearing two-thirty. With a quick explanation of what to do and promising Garth was going to take over at eight, Dean grabbed his bag and hit the path onto campus once more. 

Nearing the English building, Dean caught a scent on the breeze coming from a small street vendor’s cart. 

A siren’s call. A beacon of hope. The cure to the headache that had been building behind his eyes all day. That sweet nectar of the gods… 

_Coffee!_

Three minutes later, clutching the precious overheated thin paper cup brimming with hot java (made just right with extra cream and way too much sugar), Dean walked quickly towards the building only a block away now. He was determined not to be late for this one. 

Professor Mason already had his nuts in a vice. Last thing he needed was for that harpy to turn the screw. 

Turning the final corner, gracefully hopping up the steps to the building two at a time, Dean never even saw it coming.  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


It all happened very quickly. One minute Sam had been running up the sidewalk to get to class, bypassing all the people who seemed to be content taking their sweet time now that their first day eagerness had worn off. Seeing the finish line, he launched up the small set of stairs and in the process of grabbing for the door accidentally bumped into the person about to enter at the same time. 

The next thing he knew he was covered in scorching hot coffee. S

am gasped in shock and pulled the soaked shirt away from his stinging skin. 

“Holy…” 

“Shit! What the hell are you doing, freshman?” Dean must have seen the look of discomfort in his eyes because he ushered Sam off to the side, away from the crowd pushing into the building, his gaze softening. “You okay, dude?” 

“I-I…I’ll be fine. Just burned a bit. Shocked me more than anything. My fault, though. Sorry about that,” Sam said, contrite. 

“You’re lucky they put almost as much half-and-half in there as they did coffee or we might be taking you to the ER.” 

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Silver lining there. I guess.” He looked down at himself. There was no way he could go to class soaked to the skin and smelling faintly like hazelnut. He frowned deeply and looked at the entrance and then down at his watch. “Looks like class is out of the question now…” 

Dean shook his head and checked the time on his phone. “No way we’ll be on time, that’s for sure. In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?” He grabbed the front of Sam’s wet shirt and tugged him into the building, then into the first bathroom they came across. 

“What are we…?” Sam’s first thought, confusing and out of place as it was, was that Dean was about to make a move on him. But that was insane. No, Sam was just letting his stupid dreams get to him. 

Dean wasn’t gay. Somehow that didn’t stop the sudden slide show in his head of just how it might happen. 

He’d seen enough bad porn and cheesy movies to start imagining being cornered and kissed breathless (cheesy movie) and subsequently fucked dirty (porn) up against the wall of the empty bathroom by the man in front of him. The worrisome part was that it turned him on like nothing else and within the span of a few heartbeats Sam was already getting hazy eyed and hard. 

This would be why, when Dean turned to him and said, “Take off your shirt”, Sam nearly choked to death on his tongue. 

“W-w-what?” 

He watched as Dean slid his bag off his shoulder and started working on the buttons of his own plaid flannel shirt. “C’mon. Take the damn shirt off, Freshy. We don’t have all day.” 

“I-it’s Sam, not ‘Freshy’. Or Freshman.” Sam wasn’t sure why he hadn’t pointed this out before, but if he was about to get it on in the middle of a public restroom with the guy really the least he could do was acknowledge his name. 

“Fine. _Sam_. Take off your shirt.” 

Dean pulled off the black v-neck shirt he’d been wearing under the plaid. 

Sam stared pretty hard at the gorgeously toned and tanned upper body that had revealed itself once the undershirt came off. His chest was broad with just a smattering of barely there light hair. A lean torso tapered gracefully towards those crazy hot indentions that seemed to bracket everything below the belt. He wasn’t completely cut, but the muscles were definitely there and there was no doubt the guy took care of himself. 

Sam liked. 

Wondering if Dean went commando, as there was no hint of underwear peaking out from the top of his low-slung dark jeans, he licked his suddenly dry lips. Unbuttoning his own shirt, he couldn’t help but think that he was about to find out the answer.  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

  


Dean knew his mouth was hanging open and had been hanging open from the moment Sam’s coffee-soaked shirt had come off. He rubbed his chin against his own naked shoulder in order to force his jaw inconspicuously back into place. 

Who knew? The nerd had a serious hot body underneath that Clark Kent getup! 

He shamelessly let his eyes rove over the broad chest and shoulders that made him want to groan, the ultra defined arms that made him want to touch and squeeze, the small flat copper nipples that made him want to lick-suck-bite, the hard shadow of an eight pack that made him want to … 

He cleared his throat seeing the seriously X-rated direction his thoughts were taking. 

He shook his head hoping to clear it. Last thing the freshman needed was to be scared off by some dude putting the moves on him. He’d probably run screaming the other way. 

Of course, that had never stopped Dean before. 

It finally dawned on him, though, that Sam was actually staring back. At him. Hard. Like Dean was lunch. And Dean knew that look very well. 

It was at that moment that Dean found himself experiencing something altogether new to him. He was a deer in headlights, frozen in place, staring back into Sam’s dark lust-filled gaze. For the first time in a long time he was unsure of what to do. 

Normally Dean made the moves. Normally he would have had the lucky guy or girl backed up against a wall, knowing exactly what the other person was thinking and wanting and working to give it to them. For some reason Sam Campbell was throwing him off his game. 

Sam was walking towards him slowly now. No, not walking. He was stalking. Long limbs gracefully ate up the distance between them until Dean was sandwiched between a sink and a freshman. 

Sam looked into his eyes a moment more and Dean licked his lips, an anticipatory whimper escaping unbidden from his throat. 

It was a cue. The sound propelled Sam forward and he leaned down to take possession of Dean’s mouth. And take possession he did. He slanted his mouth hotly over Dean’s and slid his tongue smoothly past his lips, Dean opening easily under him as though it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Dean knew this was wrong. He knew he should be taking control of the situation – get the upper hand – but he couldn’t seem to do much of anything under the surprising onslaught of Sam’s gently probing tongue and the soft velvet heat of his mouth. He gripped at the stone-hard biceps of the long arms that were suddenly wrapped around his waist. He moved his hands to the chest, down the washboard abs, and around to the taller man’s – oh god – tighter than tight ass, gripping and pulling him roughly closer. There was no way either of them could miss the hardness and heat building and they both unconsciously ground their denim and khaki covered bulges together. 

Dean moaned deeply at the sensation. 

And just as quickly as it started, Sam pulled away as though he had been scalded all over again. 

“S-sorry,” he stammered, turning away quickly. 

“For what?” Dean stumbled a bit at the sudden loss of the arms that had been holding him up and he gripped the sink behind him, pulling in a deep steadying breath. 

“I… I didn’t mean to attack you.” 

Dean smirked with a shadow of his normal bravado and scratched his eyebrow absently. He felt slightly confused and wondered if it was from all of his blood moving at warp-speed to his dick and away from his brain. “Attack? I’m fairly sure you didn’t hurt me, or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. My virtue is still as intact as it ever was.” 

Sam glanced over his shoulder and groaned. “It’s just been … I mean, are you even…?” He shook his head seeming to be at a loss. “You didn’t stop me.” 

“No. I didn’t.” 

“But the girls… So what, you’re bi?” 

Dean shrugged. He wasn’t a big label person but if you had to stick a name on it… “When the situation calls for it.” 

His response seemed to amuse Sam who arched a brow. “What situation would that be?” 

Dean looked Sam straight in the eye, a sardonic smile lighting his face. “When the person under me has a dick.” 

Sam looked as though he were about to explode. His face was turning fifteen shades of red and realizing he was still shirtless he crossed his arms, tucking his hands beneath his armpits as though shielding himself from view. “I don’t know what got into me.” 

Now that Sam was no longer on the offensive and had taken a firm u-turn back into the land of insecurity, Dean felt as though he were back on sturdy well-known ground. “Any longer and it would have been me,” he said slyly. 

Any of the girls and most of the guys he usually went after would have melted over a come-on like that. 

Sam just looked dubious. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“Flatter myself? I innocently came in here to offer you a shirt since you ruined yours.” He picked up and tossed his undershirt at the guy. “You’re the one who decided to molest me.” 

“Molest? Well I’m pretty sure your tongue made a few round trips into my mouth. And…” Sam looked at the shirt in his hands now, his face - if it was possible - turning a full-on maroon. “Thanks for the shirt. I didn’t realize…” 

Dean shrugged and slid his plaid shirt back on, buttoning up the buttons one by one, his eyes never leaving Sam as the younger man pulled the v-neck over his own head. Watching the other man’s muscles bunching and rippling with the movement, Dean had to stop himself from crossing back over to finish what they had only barely started. 

The shirt was ever so slightly too small on the taller man but it looked mighty fine to Dean, who decided the safer route would be to commit the scene to memory for the next time he need a quick round alone in the shower with his right hand. 

“Thank you,” Sam said again, smoothing the shirt into place before folding his coffee stained one and shoving it into his bag. 

“No problem. Now if we’re done here, let’s get to class before the woman locks us out of the damn room.” 

“Can she do that?” Sam asked, worry evident in his voice. 

Dean just grabbed his bag and quickly made his way up to the lecture hall not checking to see if Sam followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
>  
> 
> The first part of this chapter is dedicated to my husband and to all the readers out there that have lost loved ones to that which is called Skyrim. 
> 
>  
> 
> My hubs insisted I try it so I built a character and she's a something-or-other with badass hair and lots of scars and I named her Winchester. As soon as I entered the name, I looked at him and told him I didn't need to go any further. I already won. ;)


	6. Common Ground

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


It was an hour later and Sam could still feel his face burning. He was sure there was no way it could possibly get any hotter short of him contracting the flu. 

He knew they had made something of a scene. 

Even if Dean had entered the classroom looking cool as a cucumber, Sam had still been a little thrown by the entire bathroom debacle and, under the intense scrutiny of the class as they entered through the front entrance of the room, he had stumbled and managed to collide directly into the other man’s back. 

Dean had merely turned and righted him with a firm grip on his shoulders and a look of mild frustration. 

To top it off, Professor Mason had been at the tail end of explaining their first project and due to their tardiness she had decided that he and Dean would be paired up to work together. As warned, she gave no breaks. They would have to figure the whole thing out for themselves based solely on the outline she gave them. All of this was stated briskly and with a less than impressed look on her face. 

Dean had taken his copy of the outline with his usual unaffected smirk while Sam had nodded contritely before climbing the lecture hall stairs and suffering through what felt like the longest silence in history. Mason refused to speak again until they took their seats. 

As he had Friday, Dean took the seat on the end of the isle. Normally Sam wouldn’t have thought twice about it however Dean had reached his seat first, meaning Sam had to squeeze past his knees to get to his own chair beside Craig. All other seats in the area were accounted for so sitting elsewhere was out of the question. When Sam glowered at him and indicated he should move so that Sam could slide through, Dean just gave him a wicked smile and stayed put, daring him with a look to do what he had to do. 

All the while Sam swore he could hear crickets chirping from the dead silence of the room. A cold sweat came over him. He swore he could feel Mason’s shrewd eyes on his back. 

He finally huffed, going in, then almost fell straight into Dean’s lap as he tried to step over the seemingly purposeful sprawl of denim-clad legs. He recovered and glared sidelong at Dean as he finally connected ass to chair. 

With that settled, Mason gave a terse nod of her head and crossed to the chalkboard to begin the day’s lecture. 

Although he didn’t say anything at the time, Sam could feel Craig beside him, ramping up for an inquisition. There was no question that it was coming. So he was somewhat prepared when, after class, Craig almost immediately lit in to him. 

“So what, pray tell, was that?” 

“What was what?” Sam feigned ignorance, looking over at Craig as they exited the English building. They turned towards the coffee shop where his friend had informed him Sara, Lilly and Will were already waiting. 

“You and Winchester darting in ten minutes late, together, looking all…flushed?” 

Sam almost laughed at the choice of wording. Well they _had_ been in a bathroom. 

He shook his head instead, trying not to think too hard on what had transpired before class. “Nothing. He… There was an accident. Coffee spilled and… Um, he just loaned me a shirt.” He plucked at the front of the black shirt as if offering proof. 

Craig pinned him with a look from the corner of his eye, which spoke of obvious disbelief. “Uh-huh.” 

“What?” Sam asked, uncomfortable under what looked an awful lot like the look a person got when they knew a whole lot more than they were letting on. 

“Look, Sam, it’s not my place to say anything but I already feel like we’re friends.” 

Sam nodded in agreement and his heart swelled at the words. He’d never really had much in the way of friends before. 

“And because I see you as a friend, I just feel like I should tell you when you’re heading in a bad direction.” Craig shrugged and shook his head. “If you’re looking for something more than a one-off… Dean is … Well, he’s not the type for that sort of thing.” 

Sam made a strangled sound. 

_Did Craig think…?_

_Did he know…?_

“Okay. So I know it’s none of my business, man. I get it. I just know Winchester and the guy wouldn’t know the definition of serious if you shoved a dictionary under his nose. You’re a decent guy. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Sam sputtered and finally finding his voice, he spit out “What are you talking about?” 

“Well, I mean it’s not all that difficult to put together. After what happened at the party Friday night? Wearing his shirt to class today? It’s no secret the guy swings both ways, Sam. I just figured… I didn’t want you thinking it was going to be anything more.” 

Sam’s mind was reeling at the implications of the current conversation. 

“Uh…thanks. Really. But,” Sam ran his hands through his hair in a flustered manner. “There’s nothing like that going on. He just did me a favor. I…I’m not into him. Like _that_.” 

Of course, that didn’t account for the fact that the confirmation that it was common knowledge Dean was an equal opportunity kind of guy was pounding through his brain like a two-ton rhino. 

He could still feel the other man’s skin beneath his fingers. Could still feel him against his lips. 

It had been a while since he’d had that sort of contact with someone, he told himself. It had simply been a case of lust run rampant. 

That’s all. 

Craig nodded. “Okay, man. I didn’t peg you for being that kind of guy. Just thought it was worth saying.” 

_“That kind of guy?_

Sam played and replayed that phrase in his head, wondering what Craig meant by that, if anything. 

“So, you know that I’m gay?” 

“Oh, come on, Campbell. You told Sara. The whole campus probably knows by now.” 

Giving a thoughtful but resigned nod, Sam barely missed a step as they walked on. 

It seemed that his new friend didn’t care that he was gay. That was always good to know. It wasn’t like he was hiding it, he just wasn’t stupid either and knew prejudice was still alive and well in the world. 

He made a mental note, however, to be extra careful with what he said around Sara in the future.   


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


Sam had been sitting at the coffee shop for what had likely been a couple of hours. He’d honestly lost track. 

The group had talked for a while over their hot teas and lattes, discussing news, classes, and gossip from the weekend. When Lilly, Sara, Will and Craig had all dispersed towards their various next destinations, Sam had chosen to remain. He wanted to study and much preferred the soft hum of voices and clatter of dishware to the _pyew, pyew, pyew_ sound of whatever war-driven game Nathan had just gotten the day before. 

The ambient noise there helped him concentrate. He had always done his best research with his parents when they were stopped at diners. The sounds of cafes were easy to tune out but at the same time soothing to him. 

Once left alone, he had moved to a spot in the corner, next to one of the windows that overlooked the small strip of businesses running parallel to the campus. It was where most of the student body went in the afternoons and nights, whether it be for a quick bite to eat or a drink or two. The view would have been perfect for people watching but it was wasted on Sam who had been completely absorbed in the book spread out before him. 

Professor Mason had only asked them to read the first ten chapters of the book so far, but he was reading ahead and enjoying the text at his leisure. He was already halfway through the fifty-eight-chapter book and likely he would end up going through it twice before the semester was over. For no other reason than that he could. 

As his eyes scanned the same line for a third time, he realized he was getting distracted and suddenly the all too familiar feeling of being watched washed over him. 

He tensed. 

Before, when he was hunting, the feeling might have signaled danger. He’d experienced it time and time again when whatever they may have been hunting began hunting them. But, he reminded himself as he let out a pent up breath, he wasn’t hunting. He was at school and far away from the extraordinary creatures that had made up his first twenty years of life. He needn’t worry here. 

This didn’t change the fact that the feeling was still there and was going to buzz in the back of his mind like an agitated bumble bee until he found the source. 

He frowned in concentration and looked up at the window, using the reflective surface to scan the room without being obvious. Mostly everyone was sitting at tables, having discussions with companions, doing homework or reading like him. One face stood out among the rest. It was turned towards him and was in no way trying to hide the fact that their attention seemed solely pointed in Sam’s direction. 

By the time he’d turned in his seat, Dean had turned away and faced forward, standing in the small queue at the counter. Sam had seen him though, in the reflection on the glass. It had been him staring. 

What was he doing there? Didn’t he have a bar to run? 

He looked the man up and down. He was still wearing the red and black plaid shirt from earlier, rolled up at the sleeves now. His jeans were just right, not too baggy and not too tight. They hugged his calves and thighs and had his shirt not been in the way, Sam was sure he would have been able to see the outline of the mouthwatering ass he’d had his hands on only hours before. 

There was nothing that could have stopped the torrent of images that flooded his mind at that point in time. The look and feel of Dean’s smooth tanned skin as his fingers had trailed along his ribcage and around to his lower back. That mouth that was created to inspire thoughts of debauchery and pure luscious hedonism. Smokey green eyes almost completely eclipsed by lust-dilated pupils. The image of his long hard length pushing out and begging to be freed from its prison of dark denim. Not to mention the feel of him when… 

Sam rearranged his position on the chair as he felt himself swell once more. 

It took him several long seconds to register that he had been staring at Dean. And it took him a few seconds longer to realize that Dean had caught him doing just that. 

The likelihood that Dean knew exactly what was happening to him at that moment seemed fairly high, as his lips were quirked up in a knowing smirk. He bit one of those perfectly plump lips and looked like he was about to mouth something but whatever it might have been, Sam would never know. 

The young woman behind the counter called out “next!” in a strained voice that sounded both exhausted and extremely over caffeinated. 

Dean, to Sam’s surprising regret, turned away to place his order. 

Not even pausing to think about what he was doing, Sam jumped up from his chair and met Dean where he stood in front of the cashier, ordering his large coffee with plenty of cream and sugar. When Dean went to reach for his wallet, Sam moved in. 

“I got it,” he interjected, producing his own wallet, passing the barista a little over what was due and telling her to keep the change. 

Transaction complete, they moved off to the side and out of the way of the next person in line. 

“Thanks, Freshy.” Dean held his newly obtained coffee aloft in a salute of gratitude. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

Sam lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I figured it was only fair since I spilled your last coffee. Besides, you didn’t exactly _have_ to give me the shirt off your back so I could go to class either.” 

Dean eyed the shirt in question and Sam suddenly felt ever fiber of the soft cotton clinging to him like a second skin. 

The shirt was worn in and stretchy and comfortable and smelled amazing. It smelled of that fresh woodsy smell that he’d caught a whiff of at the bar that first night. It smelled of Dean. 

It had also been making him miss his t-shirts ever since he’d put it on. 

When he’d arrived the week before, Sam had made a conscious decision to forgo his naturally more casual style in order to present himself in a studious manner to his professors and the world at large. If he was going to be taken seriously and start things off on the right foot, then he needed to dress the part. Decision made, he had found an outlet store just outside of town and charged several respectable outfits against his emergency credit card. Then he proceeded to bury his small collection of tees, jeans and flannels in the back of his miniscule dorm room closet as if moving them out of sight might make cutting ties easier. 

Perhaps just on the weekends, they could make a reappearance, he thought. 

One thing was for sure. He had gotten a whole lot of looks from girls and guys alike just within the short time he’d been wearing Dean’s shirt. They were of the ‘eat you alive’ variety and Sam had been jumping back and forth between being horribly mortified and extremely flattered by the attention. With the way he was being looked at now and if he didn’t know better, he’d say Dean liked what he saw as well. 

The thought was a little shocking. 

“I-I’ll wash it,” he blurted out. “Um, the shirt. I’ll wash it and give it back to you in class Wednesday.” He wasn’t really sure what else to say. 

He fidgeted beneath the weight of a heated green stare. 

“That’s okay. Keep it.” Dean leaned forward into Sam’s space and brushed a piece of lint from a spot right above his left nipple. He tried not to notice that the skin beneath that spot tingled and the small nub hardened at the simple fleeting contact. “Looks better on you.” With a last impish smile, Dean turned to go. 

Sam stood glued to the spot, his eyes scanning the floor in front of him madly, wondering if he were crazy for what he was about to do. 

“Hey!” he heard himself call out as he spun towards the door that Dean was currently about to exit through. 

Dean stopped and looked over his shoulder with an expectant glance. 

Not really caring to yell across the busy café, he crossed over to the other man. “Why don’t you stay and finish your coffee? I mean, if you don’t have to work. We could…talk?” Sam turned his splayed hands up in a helpless gesture. It wasn’t as if he’d planned to say any of this. He dropped his hands and rubbed his forehead as he chuckled self-consciously. “Um, maybe we could start tying to figure out the project for Mason’s class.” 

He knew he must sound like a full-fledged idiot but he could keep the words from slipping out and he was forced to admit to himself that he hadn’t wanted Dean to go. Not yet anyway. 

So what if he totally sounded like he was desperate for the other man’s company? There was something about Dean that, even if cocky and abrupt, felt pleasantly familiar to Sam. It made him feel almost nostalgic and that made him want to see what that something might be. Or at least he could attempt to enjoy it for a little while longer. 

Dean’s eyes rested on Sam for a long while before he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Sam couldn’t be sure if the unease he saw in the green eyes was imagined or not, but all the same, he tried to bolster himself for the rejection he was sure was about to come. 

“Uh…yeah. I’m not working tonight so I guess I could do that.” 

“No worries. I understand. Some other time, yeah?” Sam turned to go back towards his table, when his brain finally caught up to what was actually said. He frowned and then pivoted once more to see Dean still standing just inside the doorway with laughter in his eyes. “You said yes, didn’t you.” 

The older man nodded. 

“Oh. Okay, great. Good. I’m…over… Yeah.” He pointed towards the corner and then led the way back to the table he had previously been occupying, his book still laying open where he had left it. “Working on the reading,” he explained a little unnecessarily. 

Dean lifted the front of the book enough to see the cover and nodded. “Yeah. It’s decent. I finished it over the weekend.” 

“Finished it?” 

He laughed then and Sam warmed at the sound of it. The guy had a great laugh. It was the kind of laugh that, if you were lucky enough to pull it out of the person, made you feel like you’d won a major award. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. I _do_ know how to read.” 

“I just…” Sam leaned back in his chair and smiled ruefully. “I guess I didn’t figure you for the _read-ahead_ type.” 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? Well then we’re even, Campbell.” His eyes roamed freely over Sam. “I didn’t figure you for the _abs-that-can-cut-glass_ type.” 

Sam forced himself to look anywhere but at Dean and unconsciously he tensed the muscles in question as he remembered Dean’s hands running hotly over his stomach. “I’ve been trai- .. working out since I was… Well as long as I can remember really.” 

“So, what? You’re an athlete?” 

“That would be a categorical no.” The thought was laughable. Sam had barely stayed in the same state for longer than five consecutive weeks at a time growing up. Organized sports to him had been working with his dad to scam money off of unscrupulous card players and pool sharks. “Just…no.” 

“Your family own a gym or something?” 

Sam shifted again, uncomfortable. “Or something,” he said in a slightly harsher tone than he meant to use. 

Dean inclined his head, seemingly in understanding that the topic was off limits. “Maybe you can give me some tips sometime.” 

The shift of topic left him feeling relieved and grateful and somewhere mixed in with those two things, he also got really brave. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Remembering Dean’s actions from a few minutes before, he returned the favor and ran his eyes slowly over every inch of the man that he could see above the tabletop. “You don’t seem like you need much help in that department.” 

Sam couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw a tiny bit of color flood Dean’s face. He chuffed a laugh, which he quickly hid behind a fake cough. Surely he hadn’t just managed to embarrass the great Dean Winchester. 

It was kind of nice to finally be on the other side of that reaction. 

“Ya know, Freshman, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me.” 

High on Dean’s near timid reaction, Sam leaned forward, giving him his undivided attention. “And if I didn’t know any better...I’d say you liked it.” 

They sat staring, time suspended as they pinned one another to the spot. Noise ceased. Peripheral vision narrowed and darkened until all he could see was the man seated across from him. 

Only seconds passed but to Sam it felt like so much longer. 

Dean was the first to crack. He dropped his eyes back down to the table, cleared his throat, and just like that Sam plummeted right back into reality. 

The murmur of casual conversation, the hiss of the espresso maker, the whir of the coffee beans being ground… It all flooded his senses once more and he shook his head, trying to reconcile what had just taken place. 

Dean fingered the edges of the book and gave Sam a controlled smile, acting as if nothing had just happened. “So do you have the handout for the project handy? I can read over it again. Doubt it will be all that difficult.” 

Sam pursed his lips but withdrew the sheet from his bag and placed it on the table between them. Whatever the moment had been, it was over and Dean seemed determined to ignore it. Sam couldn’t say he was against the idea himself. 

After reading over the project outline, Dean announced with confidence that it would be a breeze and tossed out several ideas which Sam dutifully jotted down in his binder. Occasionally he added opinions and his own take on what Dean was saying. He shook his head and spoke out against an idea he saw as being overdone, but the majority of the ideas were good. Maybe even better than good. 

He had initially been worried that being saddled with Dean as a writing partner would mean flying solo on the whole thing. He had unfairly assumed Dean would be one of those people that just signed their name to someone else’s work. Now, as his hand moved furiously to write as fast as Dean was throwing out thoughts, he wondered if the other man was going to let him do much more than comment and take notes. Sam felt he could now breathed a sigh of relief that his partner was not going to be the reason his grade point average went into a tragic tailspin. 

Dean began rattling off authors and stories that they could use for reference material. Names that spanned centuries and genres. Rushdie, Murdock, Bronte, Dickens… As he went on, Sam held up a hand to stop him. “Wait, wait, wait… You actually know who Ishiguro is?” 

The other man lit up, Sam’s surprise reflected in his own eyes. “ _You_ actually know who Ishiguro is?” 

The conversation quickly transitioned away from the project and the semester’s required reading to books they’d read outside of class and favorite authors. Turned out they both secretly loved schlocky old pulp fiction. 

This naturally progressed, some time later, to a discussion of movies. Horror easily won out for both of them. However, they were divided on old versus new. 

“It’s a disgrace to the genre!” Dean railed. “This sudden need to remake every great horror move ever made!” He sniffed in disgust. He was staunchly pro-original. 

“Okay, I’ll admit it’s unnecessary. But think of the whole new generations that will be open to _Nightmare on Elm Street_ or _Amityville Horror_ or _Halloween_.” 

“Don’t defend them, Sam. I gave up on Hollywood after the remake of _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_. There is no such thing as a good remake.” 

“Okay. What about… _Dawn of the Dead_? Huh? Zombies in a mall?” 

Dean looked thoughtful and seemed to give him a begrudging nod. “Okay. So that one didn’t suck complete ass.” 

“And how about _Friday the 13th_?” He asked encouraged by the fact that he’d gotten Dean to agree on something. 

“Ugh. Sam, I don’t know. Seriously? That whole extra back story crap? And the mask…” 

“Well… Okay, but the guy was hot at least.” 

Dean stared at the table recalling the main character in his head. He looked back at Sam and nodded, straight faced. “Yeah. The guy was hot. I’ll give ya that.” 

Dean needled Sam for admitting to a love of animated movies. 

“It’s anime,” Sam stated firmly. “It’s an artform.” 

“It’s a fuckin’ cartoon, is what it is.” 

Sam nearly fell off of his chair as he watched Dean basically geek out when Sam broached the topic of British comedy, both mainstream and obscure. 

Sam was even afraid for a minute or two that they might get kicked out once Dean randomly started quoting lines from _Shawn of the Dead_ and he found that he had trouble controlling the volume of his laughter. 

“ _‘There is no "I" in team, but there is an "I" in pie. And there's an "I" in meat pie. Anagram of meat is team…’_ ” 

Long after their coffee cups were empty and left forgotten on the table, long after most of the other patrons had left and the sun set leaving the strip awash in the glow of orange street lamps, they sat and continued talking. 

They discussed their other classes and majors. While Dean already knew Sam was aiming for law school, Sam had surprisingly found himself explaining to Dean his deeper desire to help people that had no one in their corner. 

“I know I could make money in corporate law but there is no way I could live with myself. I grew up…seeing people in need of help that had no way to help themselves. I swore I would always try to help however I could.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a sucker for the downtrodden.” 

“Or maybe you’re just a good person,” Dean replied quietly, an unreadable look on his face. 

Sam had broken the slight tension by asking with more than a small amount of curiosity, exactly what Dean’s major was. 

“Uh,” he clasped his hands together and looked at the door as if the answer was about to walk through it. When he looked back at Sam he offered a half smile. “I guess Writing and Literature? At least at the moment.” 

Sam recalled Will saying that they’d always wondered if Dean was stupid, rich, or lazy. Craig had been right, though. Dean was intelligent. He knew that first hand now. 

“Still not sure? How long have you been here?” 

Dean scratched idly at the back of his head and seemed a little discomfited by the discussion. “Was here for a while but…I left. I came back a year later, though. So altogether I guess about six years.” 

“Wow.” What was left unsaid was the fact that six years was a whole lot of time to be in school without being certain of a major. 

Dean read between the lines and straightened in his seat. “I’m not just fucking around for the hell of it. I…” He looked around the room and then back to Sam. “Okay, truth?” 

Sam nodded and Dean leaned forward as if sharing a guarded secret. 

“I have a degree. Criminal Justice.” 

Sam jerked his head back and stared at the man, confused. “You…? Wait, but if you have a degree…” 

“I got it a few years ago. I just decided… I wasn’t going anywhere in particular so I reenrolled and started working on a second one.” 

Saying Sam was intrigued was an understatement. “What made you decide to keep going? Trying to defer your grand entrance into the adult world?” 

Dean looked pensive, as though trying to figure out how to best answer the question. After a long pause he leaned back, sprawling his legs out beside the table. “Sometimes you just have to follow your gut. My gut told me to stay.” 

After that they lapsed into a brief companionable silence, Dean thoughtful and Sam still floored by the fact that Dean had felt him worthy of personal information he obviously didn’t share often. 

In the quiet, Sam picked up on a familiar tune over the café’s sound system. “What…what song is that?” he asked, searching his memory. 

“I want you to want me.” 

“What?” Sam’s heart picked up a little speed at _those_ words coming out of _that_ mouth. 

“Cheap Trick,” Dean answered easily. “ _I Want You to Want Me_.” 

“O-Oh. Right.” Sam smiled despite himself. “Surprised you know that.” 

“Why?” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You just look like you would listen to Prog Rock or Thrash Metal or something.” 

This was met with a scowl. “Yeah, well you look like the type of guy that would listen to …No Direction.” 

“ _No_ Direction?” Sam honest-to-God giggled. “Dude! Seriously?” he asked, his amused smile next to impossible to erase. “Actually, if you must know I grew up right. Listened to nothing but classic and hard rock since before I was born. AC/DC, Skynyrd, Black Sabbath, Kansas…” 

“Now you’re talkin’!” Dean smacked his hand loudly against the table with enthusiasm. 

“Heard the new Sabbath bootlegs?” Sam asked, getting excited all over again by his discovery and sheer luck in timing at finding the songs just a few months before. 

“New bootlegs?” 

“Just uncovered earlier this year. Label was talking about releasing them online but they got leaked. Of course, I totally snatched them up before they could pull the files.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you have bootleg bootlegs?” 

Sam nodded solemnly. 

“So what are we still doing here?”   


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

  


Two hours, thirteen songs, and a six-pack of beer later, Dean was kicked back on a hard plastic swivel chair, nursing his last bottle of Shiner Bock. His feet were propped up on the edge of the nondescript wooden desk and he laughed softly as he watched Sam sink further and further into goofy drunkenness. 

“Okay. Okay, okay. Here! I got it!” Sam shouted, obviously pretty proud of himself as the first few strains of a melody filled the air. 

Before any lyrics or voice could give it away, Dean sniffed. “Gallows Pole. Zeppelin.” 

Sam actually stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, having been unable to stump Dean even though he’d been trying for quite a while now. 

As Dean considered how adorable, if a bit ridiculous, the expression was on the man, his smile fell away and he sighed. If he didn’t tread carefully, Dean already knew he was going to be in big trouble. 

Somewhere between discussing favorite authors and listening to Sam talk so sincerely about how he wanted to help people, Dean had realized that he liked the guy. Like…actually liked him. Not just tolerated him as he did most people. 

This fact was further cemented for him when he told Sam about his degree. Only a handful of people knew about that. As far as everyone at school was concerned he was just the resident indolent bartender who had no plans beyond chasing the next party or the next piece of ass. And that’s the way he wanted it. 

Maybe he had crossed a line by giving that much of himself away to someone he barely knew. Garth was sure to think so, if Dean felt the need to share the fact. No. That was wrong. Garth was probably going to wet his pants laughing. His friend had been after him for years to move on with his life. To be who he was and not just who he wanted people to see. But he had stuck it out this long and there was currently no way around his tried and true party boy image. 

But there was something in the way Sam spoke to him. With passion and intelligence and humor. Sam didn’t speak down to him or belittle his ideas. He had listened to Dean attentively and it was clear that when he looked at Dean, he saw a peer. Not just some guy that might be an easy lay or a good time. 

This meant a lot to Dean. For some reason, he liked the idea of maybe being friends with Sam. 

Unfortunately, that meant acting on the raging lust he also felt towards the other man was out of the question. Dean didn’t have a lot in the way of real friends. Never had. But even he knew it wasn’t cool to fuck your friends. It was a little like pissin’ in your bath water. 

Didn’t mean he couldn’t look, though. 

His eyes took in Sam, who was laying back on his university issued twin bed, two thick pillows stacked behind his back and his laptop perched precariously on his stomach. He seemed to have no clue what he was doing to Dean. Sam’s shirt was slightly rucked up and the sliver of exposed skin was driving him crazy. As his eyes squinted against the light of the computer screen Sam’s tongue peeked out from between his teeth absently and Dean took another swallow of beer to drive back any noises that might have escaped from him otherwise. 

Look but no touch. _Friends._

After listening to the bootlegs, which had proven to be just as insanely awesome as he had hoped they would be, they had started playing name that tune. Or rather, the freshman had started playing and Dean had been forced to participate by Sam, the ultimate lightweight. 

It was as if the guy had never had a drink before. Three beers in he was buzzed off his ass. At least he was a happy drinker. Dean hated when people couldn’t hold their booze. Alcohol anger was nasty and irrational and a total turn-off. 

“C’mon. Gimme a hard one,” Dean said, absently picking at the label on his beer bottle. 

Sam snickered and leered at him playfully. “Oh, I’ll give you a hard one alright.” 

Rolling his eyes, Dean smiled in amusement at the completely cheesy line. “Sammy, you flirtin’ with me again?” 

“Nooo…” he drew the word out and snickered. After a beat, “Why, is it working?” 

“Such a dork.” 

“But a hot dork. Said so yourself.” 

“Don’t know if I ever actually said it in so many words.” 

“Oh. So if I did this…” Sam sat up and put the computer on the bedside table before reaching for the hem of his shirt. He pulled the fabric over his head and let it fall to the floor beside him. “This wouldn’t bother you right?” 

The fumbling innocent thing was all an act. Had to be. The man obviously knew what he was doing. 

Dean’s mouth was like the Sahara. He swallowed hard against the sudden dryness and his eyes drank in the sight of the stellar sight of Sam’s exposed torso. 

He dropped his legs from the desk as Sam slowly rounded the bed and then casually straddled his lap. Swallowing again, his hands seemingly with a mind of their own went to Sam’s thighs, gripping and squeezing. 

Dean was already hard as granite. Having been half-hard most of the afternoon, it didn’t really take much. He could feel Sam too - hot, stiff, and ready - through the gym shorts he had changed in to when they got to his room. 

Dean looked up at Sam who seemed far less tipsy now than he had several minutes before and they slowly and mutually closed the distance between them, their mouths meeting for the second time that day. This time in a more tentative kiss. 

Alarms were going off in Dean’s head. He was sure this was wrong. He wanted the other man. That fact was not in question. At all. But he liked Sam. Hadn’t wanted him to be a one-night stand. 

He didn’t normally spend this much time with people he slept with. He certainly didn’t quote lines from movies with them. He didn’t play name that tune. No, this had definitely already ventured so completely outside of casual hookup territory. 

Dean had to explain. Had to put a stop to it. 

“Sam,” he gently pushed at the younger man’s arms, easing him back enough to look at him. “We can’t… I don’t -” 

Sam put a finger against Dean’s lips, silencing him. “I get it, Dean. Doesn’t mean anything. S’okay.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean, you get it?” 

“I mean, I know you just, like… You do no-strings sex, right? Nothing serious.” 

Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about what he was saying. It’s true, he’d worked hard to make casual his MO, but the way Sam said it… Was Sam just looking for a hook-up? Had that been what the whole afternoon had been about? The idea that Sam had just been angling for sex made his insides twist a little uncomfortably. 

At that moment, Sam ground down onto Dean’s lap and they both moaned at the feel of it, sending any most rational thoughts Dean had about the situation skittering away like rats from a sinking ship. 

Pushing past whatever disappointment was lingering in his suddenly blood deprived brain, he darted forward to press his lips to Sam’s. Harder this time and without reservation. 

If this was all Sam wanted, who was he to say no?   


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


Sam had no clue what had gotten in to him. 

Sure, he’d had sex before. Several times. At Stanford, he’d even had an on-and-off fling with one of the guys in his biology class. Nothing serious, just a few lousy dates, a lot of sex and occasionally they threw in conversation. But this felt different. 

He rolled his hips and felt Dean pressing hard against his ass. He moaned, throwing his head back. 

To his very pleasant surprise, he felt Dean’s lips and then teeth capture the skin at the base of his throat. 

“What…do you… want?” Dean asked as he worked his way slowly up Sam’s neck. 

That was a great question. 

Lips finally crashed together, tongues battling for dominance. Dean’s hands ran from Sam’s hips to his back and his fingers followed the trail of Sam’s spine up and then back down again until the fingertips skimmed at the top of his crack, which was peeking out over his shorts. Sam’s ass clenched in anticipation for more. 

He had his answer. 

“Want you,” he choked out after coming up for air. 

“Yeah?” Dean’s cool confidence drifted off of him in waves. Like an aphrodisiac. “How do you want me?” 

Sam leaned forward and caught Dean’s earlobe between his teeth before whispering roughly, “Want you to spread me on that bed over there…and fuck me. Hard.” 

The low growl that this drew out of Dean assured him that the other man was on board with the plan. 

Grasping and groping at Sam’s ass, Dean stood from the chair. Sam wound his legs around his waist, amazed at the other man’s strength in being able to carry him. It was incredibly hot. All too soon, he was being laid down on the bed and Dean was moving away. 

Thankfully it was for a good reason. 

Dean unbuttoned his plaid shirt slowly, watching Sam with hooded eyes. “Roommate gonna bust in?” he asked almost as an afterthought. 

Time to fess up. 

“I put a tie on the door when we got here.” Dean lifted an eyebrow and Sam smiled back ruefully. “Wishful thinking.” 

And it had been. Very wishful. Ever since he had started talking to Dean at the coffee house. Ever since the flirting. Hell, ever since the first kiss in the damn bathroom. Sam had been hard-pressed to get the man out of his head. 

He knew he was playing with fire. Now that they’d gotten to know each other a little, he found that he liked Dean. But he also kept it forefront in his mind that the guy didn’t _do_ relationships. He’d heard it from everyone. Even the man himself. It was likely for the best. After all, Dean didn’t really fit in with Sam’s carefully constructed plans for the future. 

At least, that’s what Sam told himself. 

Shaking his head, Dean returned to him, shirtless. He spread Sam’s legs and lay down between them, their naked chests pressing together. Warm skin on skin. 

That skilled mouth descended and moved across Sam’s collarbone with hot sucking kisses. Sam hissed as Dean ran his hands along his abs, scraping his short nails across the sensitized skin. 

He tightened his long legs around the blonde man’s waist, even as his hands worked their way between them and worked the button and zipper of Dean’s jeans open. 

_Commando!_

Sam nearly expired on the spot as his curiosity was finally sated by the sweet absence of underwear. 

Anxious fingers moved in and closed over the scalding hot rigid cock that was now jutting from the opening in his pants. 

“Nice,” Sam whispered, stroking the thick length. 

“I’ve always been partial to it.” 

Pulling at the waistband of his shorts, Sam lowered them just enough so that his own cock sprang free. Dean pushed himself up to readjust and then they groaned in shared ecstasy when the hard, hot members slid together. Using his larger hands, Sam enclosed both of them almost completely, jacking them together in a slow building rhythm. 

“So fuckin’ hot, Sam.” Dean whispered just before he began kissing down from his ear. 

Apparently this was an erogenous zone for him and he arced up when lips found the spot where his shoulder met his neck. Sam heard himself moan like a sailor on shore leave and closed his eyes self-consciously. Hot breath fanned over the side of his face as Dean chuckled. “You keep makin’ sounds like that and this is gonna be over real fast.” 

“Help! Somebody help! Shit! Call 911!” 

Both men jerked at the loud cry that echoed in the hallway just outside the door. Their eyes went wide as they stared at one another in shock. 

“What the hell?” Dean jumped up, carefully pushing himself back in his pants and zipping his fly. Sam rolled off the bed right behind him and crossed the room in two strides, throwing the door open. 

The person who had yelled was standing near the fire exit looking panicked and pale with fear. 

“What happened?!” Sam asked, moving into the hallway. 

“Some guy… he just… he was walking up the stairs in front of me and then just… he just took a nose dive down, like, six flights!” 

Sam looked closely at the guy. He’d seen him in passing several times. He lived on floor above Sam and Nathan. The guy always seemed pretty quiet. Kept to himself. Usually had a ton of books with him, much like Sam. He didn’t seem the type to be joking about something like this. 

Sam felt Dean press against his back and they both moved towards the stairwell at the same time as if of one mind. He could hear other doors opening, other voices chiming in, and one of the other guys on the hall already calling for an ambulance on their cell so he knew that was covered. 

Opening the door to the stairwell, which not a whole lot of people used as most opted for the elevator, Sam immediately felt a chill that had nothing to do with the fact that he was shirtless. He froze on the spot as a wall of frigid air hit him. 

“Feel extra cold in here to you?” Dean asked from beside him as they moved to descend the stairs. 

Sam watched as his words formed tiny puffs of vapor in front of them and he gnashed his teeth together. 

“More than might be deemed normal. Yeah.” Sam tried to keep his voice steady but it was difficult as there wasn’t a doubt in his mind as to what had happened. 

His past life had come to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm not teasing on purpose! The action is on purpose because the story is - believe it or not - going somewhere. But I'm not trying to drive anyone crazy. Forgive me and thanks to everyone who commented and has stuck with me this long!! You guys are the best!!


	7. Old Habits Die Hard

  
[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)   


  


Sam and Dean lingered on the flight of stairs above where the guy was laying unconscious, right up until the paramedics arrived. The two of them had made it down the multiple flights of steps, following a disheartening trail of blood splatters all the way, only to find a small crowd already surrounding the sprawled figure. From their position they could tell that he was lying on the concrete floor at an awkward angle, as though his limbs had been pulled off and reattached at wrong angles. Blood was slowly beginning to pool beneath his head as well but everyone was leery of touching him, much less moving him, for fear of doing any further serious damage. 

The medics swooped in within a few short minutes and immediately shooed the group of concerned gawkers off. They set about checking vitals and attaching a cervical collar around his neck. Finally the woman in the official-looking blue uniform announced that it was urgent that they get him to the ER for internal bleeding. 

Vitals weak, a multitude of fractures, possibly even a broken neck. 

The team efficiently but carefully worked together to put him on a backboard and then rushed the boy out leaving the small crowd whispering and wide-eyed in their wake. 

Sam released a long pent-up breath. The kid wasn’t dead. He most definitely wasn’t doing great, but there might still be a chance for him. 

There was a marginal release of tension at the knowledge. That is until he turned and remembered that Dean was still at his side. 

Dean was there. And there was a distinct possibility that everyone _there_ was in danger. 

He looked around and knew that the cold feeling had dissipated not long after they’d entered the stairwell, but the seed had already been planted. 

Old habits die hard, they say. 

“You need to get out of here.” 

Dean turned and blinked at him in surprise. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“My roommate… he’ll be back by now.” It was the best he could do in terms of excuses. No way he could successfully sell the _‘I don’t really want to have sex with you’_ story. That would just sound crazy. 

“Can I at least go and get my bag?” 

Sam took in the bemused smile and stared hard at the lips attached to it. 

He wanted to pretend like none of this had happened. Wanted to be back on the bed with Dean. If not for the incredibly inconvenient interruption the man would be buried deep inside of him right that very second. Kissing him with those beautiful soft lips. The thought of that loss caused him to whimper. 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, his voice tinged with what seemed like sincere concern. 

“What? Yeah! I-I’m fine. I just… I have some more reading to do and…” He hitched his thumb behind him in the vague direction of his floor. 

Dean nodded. “Sure. Sure.” He scratched at the side of his neck. If Sam didn’t know better, he would think it was a nervous gesture. “Hey, I should probably go anyway. One of the girls at the bar texted me a little while ago asking where I was, so...” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. 

Sam blinked in surprise. He could read between the lines. Not that Dean was trying to be subtle. He was asking Dean to go but Dean was not going to lack for company tonight. The loss would be Sam’s and Sam’s alone. 

He wished he could say that the thought didn’t pierce him a little. Sam had felt like they were getting along so well before. Now Dean was going to walk off from what they had just been doing and fall between the legs of some girl at the bar? 

Who the hell texted a bartender for a booty call at eight o’clock on a Monday night, anyway? 

She probably had obnoxiously big tits and even bigger hair and looked like she was dressed in little more than a can of spray paint. Whose idea of literature was the latest US Weekly and who dotted her ‘i’s with tiny stars. Probably named something like Crystal or Candy or Angel. 

One thing the girl had going for her was that she wasn’t a raging dumbass who would lose out on her chance to be with Dean Winchester to go hunting for a fuckin’ ghost. 

They climbed the stairs together in uncomfortable silence. At least it was uncomfortable for Sam. And by the time they made it to his room, Nathan was indeed sitting in his state of the art gaming chair, a headset microphone bent towards his mouth and fingers moving lightning fast over the buttons of a game controller. 

“Nathan, Dean; Dean, Nathan.” Sam muttered by way of introductions. He wasn’t sure why he bothered but it seemed the polite thing to do. 

“Hey, man,” Dean greeted. 

“Hey,” Nathan replied with zero enthusiasm. “No not you,” he said into the mic a few seconds later. “No, my _weirdo_ roommate brought some dude to the room. …Yeah I know, right?” He cackled at whatever the voice in his headset said and then went on with his game. 

Sam rolled his eyes and refused to look at Dean for fear that he might see judgment there. Like the fact that Nathan had called him weird might make Dean see him in some new light. 

Not that it mattered what Dean thought or anything. 

“Here,” he said snatching the plaid shirt off of the floor next to the bed. He was just going to toss it to him. No eye contact. No big scene. But quickly he realized the flaw in that plan lie in the fact that having Dean’s shirt in his hand meant that Dean still wasn’t wearing a shirt. Instead of tossing the item of clothing, he froze and let his eyes wander over the half naked man that had been on top of him such a short time ago. 

The man really was a sight to behold. 

“Freshman? Shirt?” 

Sam startled and looked up to see looking at him a little impatiently, an annoyed frown marring his features. It was such a turn around from the laid-back laughter and smiles he’d been giving Sam all afternoon. Whatever barriers Dean had let down before, they were firmly back in place now and with a vengeance. The departure of nice, funny Dean felt like a loss Sam thought was maybe even greater than the loss of a quick and dirty shag. 

“Sure. Sorry.” 

Instead of tossing it, Sam crossed the room and handed the plaid back to him, their fingers brushing together for only a millisecond before Dean jerked away. 

“I-I’ll get your bag.” 

When Dean was buttoned up and had his messenger bag in hand, he turned to go without another word. No goodbye. No ‘I’ll call you’ – even if it would have been a lie. No final wave or nod of acknowledgement. Nothing. 

Sam stood there staring at the door, which was closing behind the retreating figure. 

How…? What…? _Huh?_

He had been the one trying to get Dean out, sure. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Dean was taking it personally. Like he was… What? Offended? Hurt? 

Surely Sam hadn’t misread things that poorly. It was preposterous to think Dean might actually care. 

He jogged to the door and pulled it open, turning his head towards the end of the hall where the elevator was located. 

Empty. 

He looked towards the stairway door and noticed that Dean was just about to head through it. 

“Hey, wait!” 

Dean paused and looked up from his the text he had been composing on his phone. He looked around the small space, as though Sam were about to attack him and he was hoping for someone else to suddenly appear and intervene. “Freshman?” 

“Sam,” he corrected, frowning at the feeling that they had taken three steps forward and two steps back. 

The other man’s lips went tight and he gave the slightest of nods to indicate Sam should say what he came to say. 

“I… You just ran out so quickly.” He shrugged. 

“If I recall, you said I should go.” 

“I did. But… Look, Dean, I didn’t mean to make it seem like-,” 

Dean cut him off with a lighthearted laugh that sounded a little too forced to be real. “Hey, no worries, man. Like I said, I have other plans anyway,” he held the phone up as evidence even though Sam wasn’t about to try and read anything. He’d probably get herpes just from Crystal/Angel/Candy’s words on the screen. 

“I just… I had a good time with you. This afternoon.” 

It was true and it was all he had in his pathetic arsenal of social skills to make things better. And that’s what he wanted. To make the man smile again. To get back to that place that they had been hours ago, talking about movies and music and book. 

This seemed to give Dean pause. He looked hard at Sam as if attempting to read him. Inside _and_ out. 

There was no clear indicator that he was satisfied with what he found, but he did nod in what, to Sam, seemed like agreement. 

“See ya ‘round, Freshman.” 

Before Sam could say anything more, if there was anything more to say, Dean pushed through the door to the stairs and was gone. 

Sam moved to the cold block wall of the hallway and slid down until he was sitting a few feet away from the exit. 

That hadn’t gone well, he mused. 

Now Dean was going to go back to the bar. He was going to hook up with the girl. 

For so many reasons Sam was disappointed. He was disappointed in the poor girl that likely had self-esteem issues and had to have the hot guy to make her feel better about herself. He was disappointed in Dean too. That he would just hop out of Sam’s bed and right into another. 

But mostly, he was disappointed in himself. He had actually believed he could get away from it all. He believed he could be someone and do something more than play monster mash for the rest of his surely-shortened life. It hadn’t even been a week and already he had fallen right back into line with the family business. Once again he was giving up what he wanted for the greater good. 

He pictured his parents. What would they say? What would they do? His mother would have understood his mixed emotions. She had always been his greatest supporter. His father would have told him to stop moping, get off his ass, and get the job done. 

Turning his head from side to side, he looked around the empty hallway. He was alone. No one was there that was going to do it for him. It wasn’t as if he could let someone else die because he was at the ass end of an existential crisis. 

He thought about moving from his spot on the floor but couldn’t really work up the energy to budge. He would go soon enough. 

He knew he needed to start the investigation. That was the first step. He would check for signs and signatures of paranormal activity. He would go up and talk to the kid that had been there at the time of the fall. He would do all of the things that he had done a million times before. And all the things he swore to himself that he would never do again.  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

  


“What the hell was I thinking?” Dean huffed, pushing through the side exit of the men’s dormitory building. “He’s gonna be just like the rest of ‘em…” 

Just before Sam had said Dean should go, it had been on the tip of his own tongue to say that he needed to leave. 

Sam had beaten him to the punch and that alone was enough to annoy him. But at least he had been about to leave for a good reason. What had been Sam’s excuse? 

His roommate would be back and he had to read? 

Dean thought it was more likely that the whole ‘guy lying bloody and unconscious at the bottom of the stairs’ thing had killed the mood. Once sex wasn’t on the agenda then Dean’s presence was no longer needed. 

But… Sam had said he’d had a good time. And he’d meant it. Dean was a bullshit bloodhound. He could have sniffed out a lie in a heartbeat. 

Whatever. He was probably over-thinking all of it. That was never a good sign. It meant he gave a shit and giving a shit was dangerous. 

He slid into his car, slamming the door just a little too hard. 

“Sorry baby,” he said under his breath afterwards, petting the dashboard at the same time he turned the key in the ignition. “It’s not your fault I had a shitty night.” 

The thing was, it hadn’t been a shitty night. It had been a pretty awesome night. He’d laughed and kicked back more than he had in a while. At least, it was the first time in a while that he’d been sincere in his actions. When everything wasn’t planned and formulated for maximum effect. 

No, everything had been going great. And then he’d felt it. 

Of course that’s what was really weighing on his mind and why he was taking his frustration out on Sam and inanimate objects. It was the fact that there was, at that very minute, a freaking ghost running loose in the men’s dorm. He was less than thrilled with this new information. 

After leaving Sam standing in the hallway looking like a confused puppy, Dean had done a cursory check of the area to no avail. 

He didn’t like the idea of flying blind. He didn’t know what had set the damn thing off, nor did he know who or what the spirit might be. He thought he knew every ghost story there was to know on campus. He’d cleared out a couple of haunts in his time there, but this was a new one on him. 

His saving grace and the only thing keeping him from calling in a bomb threat to clear the place was the fact that the police had been working to herd people out as he was leaving. All doors to the stairs were being cordoned off with bright yellow tape that stated **DO NOT CROSS** and they would remain closed off until the cops had clarified the incident was indeed an accident and not foul play. 

The powers that be within the university would also want to conduct their own investigation to make sure the stairs were structurally sound and no further issues were going to arise. God forbid the university be held accountable for something like a tragic death. 

Still, the end result was the same and it satisfied Dean that the place would be kept empty, at least until he could check into a few things and come back more prepared the next day. 

Pulling into his spot on the backside of the Hunter’s Point, he noted the big blue 1985 Ford F-250 sitting across the lot just where he’d expected it to be when he first got the texts earlier in the night. 

He slid in through the side entrance stealthily, putting his finger to his lips as a couple of regulars took note of his presence and started to call out. They all chuckled quietly, knowing his aim, and turned their attention to the brunette perched on a barstool at the bar. 

She a welcome sight tonight. 

Moving in, he slid his hands on her shoulders and before he could get a word out, he found himself on the business end of a switchblade. The razor sharp tip was only a hairsbreadth from some of the best bits of his anatomy and he winced at the proximity. 

“God, I’ve missed you,” he said fondly taking a step out of slashing range, finally getting a glimpse of the amusement lighting her face. 

“Teach you to try sneaking up on a lady.” Ellen slung the knife until it folded up and slid it back into the inside pocket of her jacket. “How ya doin’ baby?” She asked taking his face in her hands and pulling him in for an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek and a hug that nearly knocked him off balance. 

He steadied them both and relaxed into the warm embrace, soaking in the feel of the only parental affection he’d ever really known. 

The Hallmark moment was short-lived as she pulled away and smacked him hard across the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Ow! What the hell was that for?” he complained loudly. Noone could reduce him to sounding like a whiny teen faster than Ellen Harvelle. 

“No idea. Just figured there had to be somethin’ you needed hittin’ over. You boys don’t tell me a damn thing anymore so I have to assume and impose my _loving guidance_ where I can.” The last words were syrupy sweet in contrast to her previous action but that was Ellen. 

“Don’t feel bad. My ear’s still ringin’ where she got me,” Garth added, winking at her playfully while he poured up three shots of whiskey. It was the kind Ellen favored from the bottle that they kept on hand specifically for when she paid them a visit. He put two on the bar, holding one back from himself. “To family,” Garth said, raising the shot towards them. 

Dean cut his eyes to Ellen and gave her a warm smile even though his heart felt slightly more ache than joy from the sentiment. They were all painfully aware that the shot glasses should have totaled four. If Jo were there… 

He knew they were all thinking it and his voice broke just the tiniest bit when he echoed his friend. “To family.” 

“Family.” Ellen said in a strong warm rasp, clinking her glass against theirs then tossing the shot down her throat like a professional. 

When they were done, they slammed the empty glasses down upside down on the bar top. 

Once Garth moved away to serve someone at the other end of the bar, Dean collapsed onto the stool beside his adopted mother and stared at her profile until he realized he was going to have to start. “You plan on telling me why you ended up here, texting me all night?” 

She didn’t turn. She simply kept her eyes trained on the line of empty shots. “Can’t I just come see you because I miss you?” 

“No.” 

At that, she gave him a sharp look but it was no less filled with a deep abiding care. It was something he’d always cherished about her, even when he questioned how it’s existence was even remotely possible. When his father had dropped him on her doorstep. When he’d given her hell time and time again as his sentence in the purgatory of puberty ran roughshod over them all. When he’d walked out without a word. When they’d lost Jo. No matter what the situation and no matter how angry she got, Dean had never doubted her love for them all. 

“Fine. You can… but you don’t. C’mon, Ellen. Out with it.” 

“Fine. I just… I had this visit.” She looked hard at him and then shook her head dismissively. “No. Never mind. It’s silly.” 

“So silly that you drove an hour out of your way at,” he quickly checked his text history, “eight twenty at night? So silly you sat here waiting for me to get back? So silly-,” 

“You talk too much. I liked it better when you were the quiet one.” 

He ignored her attempt to sidetrack him. “Obviously something is wrong or at the very least bothering you. Just tell me.” 

“Alright.” She clasped her fingers together and placed her joined hands on the bar. “I got a visit from Grandma Lou.” 

Dean, with great effort, refrained from rolling his eyes. No luck keeping the derision out of his voice though. “How is our favorite _psychic friend_?” he sneered. 

_Grandma Lou._

The name alone unlocked pure unadulterated violence in his mind. She was no one’s grandmother. She said she was over a hundred years old, but she looked like she was pushing sixty at most. No, Louise Tilly - though she preferred Lou - was nothing more than a two-bit soothsayer from New Orleans who frequented the original Hunter’s Point. Dean had learned the hard way that the woman only brought trouble. 

“Dean, she’s a clairvoyant. How, with all the shit you’ve seen, can you still be so skeptical?” 

“Lotsa time and practice, practice, practice,” he shrugged. “Being jaded is an inevitable part of life, Ellen. How, with all the shit _you’ve_ seen, have you not noticed this?” 

“Ugh!” She huffed, slapping her hand on the bar top. “I swear you sound more like John Winchester every day.” 

“Like father, like son,” he returned. 

“That is _exactly_ why I’m here.” She turned and poked him squarely in the chest with her index finger. “Lou came to _me_ today. I didn’t seek her out, boy.” 

“Great. So she thinks she’s on some great quest to save you. Congratulations,” he deadpanned. “In case you forgot, we’ve already tried that and the crazy old bat nearly got me killed.” 

Ellen sighed, sounding tired. Really tired. 

He looked closer at her, noticing dark circles under her eyes and her forehead was creased with extra fine lines that he was certain hadn’t been there last time he saw her. It had been a rough couple of years for all of them but none more so than Ellen. The look of bone-weariness on her face instantly drew him up short. 

“Hey, sorry El,” he rubbed her shoulder and moved his hand down to give her arm a little squeeze. “It’s just, you know how I feel about her.” 

“Yeah. I know. S’why I argued with myself over tellin’ you. But,” she looked at him dead in the eye, “What she told me, Dean… It just sounded… She didn’t sound like she was scamming. She sounded scared. Made me feel like I’d regret if I didn’t at least pass it along.” 

Dean closed his eyes. Partially because Ellen’s steady beseeching gaze was bringing up a lot of his guilt issues but also because he didn’t want her to see how completely frustrated he was with himself over what he was about to say. He’d sworn he would garrote Lou if he ever set eyes on her again. Of course that’s probably why the old witch had chosen to go to Ellen and not to him. “Okay. Fine. Lay it on me.” 

“You’re in danger, Dean.” 

Still keeping his eyes closed, he bent his head and scrubbed at his face with both hands. When he’d taken a deep breath and finally looked at her again, he decided to try for rationale. 

“We’re all in danger. I mean, I could walk upstairs right now and get electrocuted when I plug in the coffee maker. You could start back home and some drunk driver could take you out. Ya know, though, now that you mention it, the turkey wrap I had for lunch tasted a little…off. I could have botulism right this very second.” 

She pursed her lips and her eyes screamed ‘not fuckin’ funny’. 

“Fine. You may not give two shits anymore Dean but Garth and I are both worried about you.” 

Dean looked to Garth who was a few feet away wiping the bar down with a cloth. His movement faltered at the mention of his name but didn’t look their way or give any other indication that he was paying attention to the conversation. 

“Et tu Brute?” Dean asked loud enough so he was sure Garth had heard it. 

“I’m serious Dean. You haven’t been the same since what happened Jo Beth.” Her voice weakened as her daughter’s name crossed her lips. “But you weren’t the only one to lose her.” 

No. He certainly wasn’t the only one that lost Jo. He was acutely aware of this fact. But he was the only one that might have been able to change things. If only he’d been there, Jo might still be alive and he was the one that had to live with that knowledge every single day. 

Yet all he said in reply was, “I know.” 

“And you know I’d rather cut my own leg off than to lose one of my boys on top of everything. Can’t go through that again, sweetie.” 

He swallowed hard. It was true that his own life had lost quite a bit of value in his eyes. Ever since he got that phone call informing him that Jo’s body had been found, he’d been half dead himself. He’d attended the funeral. He’d comforted Ellen and Garth. He’d made the funeral arrangements when Ellen threw herself furiously into work as a coping mechanism. Through it all, he hadn’t let a single one of them see how racked with guilt he actually was. Hadn’t let them know that self-hatred had quickly eclipsed his grief. 

“I know.” 

“Then why is Grandma Lou coming to me, telling me she keeps seeing you getting killed? That you get killed ‘ _avenging Jo’s death_ ’?” 

“Ellen-,” 

“When you came to me after the funeral and you told me you wanted to go back to school, I was thrilled. I thought, ‘Great! He’s wising up. No life of hunting for him.’ Four months in, when you told me that this bar next to campus was going under and it would make for a great second location for the Hunter’s Point I said ‘Wonderful! I’ve always wanted to expand. He’s taking initiative.’ I always thought you were doing so well, helping me out and it was just perfect since it would help you pay for school and give you something to keep your mind off of things. God knows I understood where you were coming from there. 

“But you worked. You did the school thing. You got a degree and it was a damn proud day for me when you did. And yet even after graduating, here you stay. In this tiny little shithole of a town. Doing everything but moving on.” Her eyes flickered back and forth between his and she put a hand on his knee. “Tell me the truth. Please?” 

“Truth about what?” 

“Are you here out of a sense of revenge? Are you looking to punish someone for what happened? Was Lou right?” 

“Not doin’ a damn thing.” Dean turned away from the watery brown eyes of the woman who, for all intents and purposes, was his mother. She seemed to accept this action as confirmation, ignoring his halfhearted words of denial. 

“The man that…did that, he got put away. Forty years. You were there in that courtroom. He admitted to it in front of God, the judge, and all of us.” 

“I was there,” he snapped. He had been there. 

He had heard the guy – Tommy – throw his own sorry ass on the mercy of the court. He had told his little story and the whole place had eaten his vile explanation up with a spoon. The state’s lawyers had rejoiced at the out and out confession. His lawyer had been satisfied with the slight leniency shown towards his client in light of the circumstances. Jo’s loved ones had been relieved that the bastard was going to be behind bars were he belonged. 

There was no relief for Dean though. He knew better. He knew that it was all a farce. Knew so much more than anyone else could have possibly realized. It was why he was there. Why he would stay there until he atoned for his part in Jo’s death. 

But Ellen knew none of what really happened. And he would go to his grave trying to protect her from that particular truth. 

“I don’t know what you’re up to exactly,” she continued, waving off Garth when he offered up another round. “But that ain’t all she said.” 

Dean folded his arms across the top of the bar, wanting to put his head down and bury his face like an ostrich buries its head in the sand. 

“She said somebody else dies too. Because of whatever it is you’re supposedly _not_ doin’.” 

Dean’s eyes immediately shot to Garth who was laughing and chatting with a sweet little redhead down on the other end of the bar. “Garth?” 

Who else could it be? 

“She didn’t know. Couldn’t make out the face.” 

Surely he wasn’t going to drag his friend into the fray. Likely Lou saw him taking down the one that was truly responsible for it all. 

Yeah. That _had_ to be it. 

Dean felt his resolve strengthen. He knew that was the last thing Ellen had wanted when she decided to tell him but he couldn’t blame her. She didn’t understand. He’d accepted a long time ago, that he was always going to go out fighting monsters, whether that be alongside his father or working his way through the jerks at a small town university. If he could take down the one that really killed Jo, right the wrong, at least he wouldn’t have died in vain.  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

  


Much later that night, Sam collapsed back onto his bed. 

Talking to the guy that had witnessed the fall, had not gone as well as he had hoped. The guy was shaken and all Sam had really gotten out of him had been basic facts. 

He’d heard someone sobbing in the stairwell. A male voice. And then suddenly the person that had been walking a few steps in front of him had gasped and hurtled backwards. After that… Well the witness had described it as a ‘gymnastics meet from Hell’ with the guy somersaulting his way down nearly six flights. 

All Sam could use was the sound of male sobbing, but that was miserably little to go on. 

The police had cordoned off the stairwell except for emergencies so Sam was fairly sure the traffic through there would be minimal. He would jump on top of things as soon as he could though, not wanting to risk any further ‘accidents’. 

Tomorrow he would go to his two classes, thankfully both were in the morning, and then he would start researching both the building and the victim. 

Maybe there was a connection somewhere. 

In the meantime, he was more than ready to sleep so that he might put the whole day behind him. He figured in sleep he might at least be able to escape the ongoing comedy of errors playing in his brain. For the past three hours he had been examining every moment of his afternoon with Dean. To what end, he hadn’t a clue. But he hadn’t liked the way they’d ended things. 

It wasn’t in his head, he’d decided. They had gotten along brilliantly. They had a lot in common and Dean made him laugh. But even more surprisingly, Sam seemed to make Dean laugh as well. He had been easy to talk to and there was no denying Dean Winchester was beautiful. But in the hours they’d spent together, Dean had utterly shattered Sam’s image of him as a bad boy with more libido than brain. 

He just didn’t know what it meant. Dean made him feel confused in ways he wasn’t sure someone he had only really just met should be able to make him feel. 

Turning on his side, away from the bright glowing action of whatever Nathan’s video game choice of the night happened to be, Sam caught sight of the discarded shirt on the floor beside the bed. It was still lying in a ball where he’d dropped it earlier. 

Dean’s shirt. 

It felt like it had been days since he’d shrugged the soft black v-neck on in the men’s bathroom of the English Department, yet it had only been that afternoon. He sighed and snatched it off the floor, pressing it to his face. 

He inhaled the scent of Dean Winchester. He wasn’t sure if it was in his head or if trace amounts of the man’s cologne still lingered on the material but that’s how he finally fell asleep; With the wadded up fabric pillowed under his cheek, the faint phantom scent of cedar and spice filling his senses.


	8. Crossing the Salt Line

The Illusion of Knowledge  
Chapter 8: Crossing the Salt Line

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

The George R. Bamford Library, or “the Bam” as the students referred to it, was an immense Grecian style building situated at the far end of the quad. On the relatively small campus, it seemed more than a bit out of place. It was easily the largest building on the property and Sam had been smitten with it from the moment he’d passed the row of stark white collumns and entered the ornate eight-foot high doors. 

The interior was not nearly as grand as the exterior, but the feel of it was cozy and it smelled of dusty books; A quality which drew Sam in like an old friend. 

The first floor held an information desk and several large meetings rooms which were frequently used for study groups and the like. 

The second floor was file storage. Old documents, microfilm, projector slides, and even a good old-fashioned card catalog was kept up should there ever be need of a non-computer backup. 

Floors three through six were where the books were housed alongside long rows of tables for reading or studying. Sam had no doubt that this would be his second home for the duration of his time at the university. 

Today, when he stepped into the small elevator, Sam skipped the upper floors entirely, his fingers skimming down the control panel and pressing the button with the prominent black “B”, illuminating the circle. 

The basement of the library wasn’t really a basement, per se. It was more like a small slice out of Sam’s version of heaven. 

The entire bottom floor was devoted solely to technology. To the left was a video library that contained movies, documentaries and newsreels that spanned the better part of a century. To the right was a computer lab that had actually made Sam weak in the knees when he’d originally seen in. It was a sum of thirty top-top-top of the line, wide flat screen monitors, all set up at a series of circular desks. Each computer cubical was equipped with its own scanner and printer as well as a drawing tablet and stylus for any of the design majors that might be working on projects. 

Sam had always been the computer whiz of the family and embraced it as it was one of the few passions he had been allowed to explore. He’d boosted his first laptop at the tender age of thirteen, directly from a delivery van that had been parked behind the diner they’d stopped at for lunch. His father had been livid that he’d taken such a stupid risk. He’d screamed and carried on and even his mother wouldn’t say a word to calm him down as she too felt it was a supremely foolish act on his part. But then Sam had booted it up and began showing them what the little machine could do. His parents had quickly gotten over his act of thievery in light of him having stolen such a useful tool. 

As soon as the elevator door opened, he stepped out and banked right, sliding into the computer station farthest away from the others to afford him a little more privacy. It also allowed him to sit with his back to a wall, which was a habit of a lifetime as well as just good common sense. 

His fingers sped over the keyboard as he logged into the university system and hit ‘search’ straight away, not even bothering with email or any of the other various time-suckers of the internet. 

**Stanton Hall; death**

Nothing. 

**Stanton Hall; accident**

This search only yielded a few articles about a busted leg received by a site worker when a heavy steel I-beam fell during initial construction. There was also a blurb about the restructuring of the parking lot after several fender benders had people complaining. Not really useful. 

Sam tried a multitude of keywords and varied phrases but it seemed like the place was clean. It had been built only ten years ago after a fire had destroyed the original boy’s dorm. 

He thought he had something with the fire but the first dorm had been clear across campus so that also didn’t make sense seeing as how no one was reported as having perished in that fire. 

He rested his chin on his hand, propped upon the desk by his elbow, and sighed trying to think if there was anything he hadn’t looked for. Maybe he needed to go back further. Maybe it was something on the land before they’d cleared the land to use for the new dormitory. 

Land titles, building permits, anything that might have existed in that spot before that time period; all of his attempts were fruitless. It had been a simple plot of unused field. No cemeteries, no old houses where the owners died, just more of big fat nada. 

As Sam began wondering if a trip into the microfilm archives was in order before he finally threw in the towel, he caught the sound of a familiar voice, breaking through the whispers and soft keyboard clacks. 

“Hey Lydia,” Dean said, with a smile in his silky voice. Sam peeked above his monitor and watched as the man leaned a hip casually against the side of the desk at the front of the room. 

The woman that sat behind the desk, apparently named Lydia, was several years past middle-age and slightly heavy-set with a style all her own. Her ultramarine blue sweater that was bejeweled with a pattern of neon green and pink daisy shaped studs, looked as though it had been designed by color blind children. Her hair, which was obviously dyed, sprang from her scalp in a waterfall of red, brown and dirty blonde spiral curls. At Dean’s greeting, she blinked up at him owlishly, her artificial eyelashes fluttering, and flashed him a surprised but genuine grin. 

“Hi’ya handsome!” She replied in the loud whisper that was known to be second nature to all librarians. 

He’d never spoken to a librarian outside of the library but when he was younger and he’d relied solely on public libraries for free papers and research, he had wondered if maybe they even spoke like that at home. He’d created entire scenarios in his head about their families and world outside of the great stacks of books. Like, maybe family game nights were full of softly spoken encouragement and mimed cheering. Or arguments took place with murmurs and when it got really heated it might escalate to normal volume. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

Dean lifted his shoulders in a carefree fashion, his eyes cutting towards her flirtatiously. “Working on something. Just wanted to see if you knew anything since you know everything there is to know about this place.” 

The woman chuckled and gave him a limp wristed slap on his arm. “You mean because I’m old and have been here forever?” 

“Lydia, darlin’, you know what they say about a good woman being like a fine wine, right?” 

The woman snorted indelicately, not buying into the line. “You are full of boo-boo, sweet cheeks. If I’m a wine then I’m the kind with a screw off lid that you get off the bottom shelf at Winn Dixie.” 

Dean pursed his lips at her. “Stop it.” 

She shook her head, ignoring his attempt to derail her self-deprecation. “So what do you need?” 

He looked like he wanted to say more but he glanced away, steeling his resolve and getting his head back into whatever he was going to ask. 

Sam leaned forward in his chair, his nose literally pressed against he computer monitor, as he strained to hear was Dean was after. 

“You got any information on Stanton Hall?” 

At this, Sam almost fell out of his chair, catching himself at the last second before he took a tumble sideways. 

“What kind of information?” 

“You ever hear of anyone getting-,” 

“Hey, Sam!” 

Sam’s eyes slid closed. God help him. He turned to see Sara sidling up to him with a beaming smile on her face, Craig trailing closely behind. 

“Hi guys!” He gave them the brightest smile he could manage, struggling not to turn his eyes back towards Dean. “What’s up?” 

“Poli-Sci project,” Craig said indicating the thick book he held between his arm and his body. “It’s not due until December but my partner the slave driver here is insisting we start im-me-di-ate-ly.” He shot her a teasing smile but she jus ignored him completely. 

“It’s so crazy we bumped into you!” She gushed, slightly louder than would normally have been permissible. 

No ‘shush’ was forthcoming, however. 

Lydia was apparently too involved in her own conversation to worry with noise levels. 

“Yeah.” He had no clue what else to say. Craig and Sara were part of ‘new Sam’s’ life. Yet he was currently in ‘old Sam’ mode. In his mind, the streams could not be allowed to cross and this left him in the slightly uncomfortable position of not knowing how to act. 

Sara didn’t seem to notice his lack of oratory exuberance. She just flipped her blonde locks over her shoulder and gave a little giggle of excitement. “We’re going to the mall this afternoon. Lil’ and I. It’s only a half hour drive. You should totally come!” 

“Sara. You _have_ to stop obsessing over this.” Craig admonished with a roll of his eyes. 

“Over what?” 

“Over Sam going shopping with you,” he replied before turning to Sam. “Sorry, man. She has some sort of weird bucket list thing about being a grade A ‘fag hag’,” Craig grimaced at his own choice of words as if finding them literally distasteful. “Somehow that equates to you needing to go shopping with her.” 

Sam blinked. He’d figured as much but he hadn’t really had a chance to give it much thought, what with the whole Dean thing. And then the whole ghost thing. 

“Craig. Don’t be a dick. Sam, it’s gonna be awesome! We’re gonna get mani-pedis and check out what’s new at Sephora and then go get fro-yo. C’mon. I’ll buy!” 

“I, uh,” he laughed softly despite himself. “Yeah, I can’t. Sorry. I have a project I’m working on, myself. Gonna be an all night thing. Plus… I don’t even know what Sephora is so…” 

She looked stunned by this admission and a little disappointed but took it in stride. “Next time, then.” 

He groaned inwardly. He should have just told her the truth. That he would rather be naked, slathered in honey, placed on an ant bed while his tongue was stuck to a railroad track in the dead of winter than to visit any type of shopping establishment with her. The moment had past though so once more he let it go. 

Craig held out his fist and bumped it against Sam’s. “Hey, man, call me later! Gotta ask you about something.” 

“Sure thing,” he agreed quickly, hoping to speed them on their way. 

He watched them cross the room and slide into an empty computer station to start their project. Only then did he release the tense breath he’d been holding in. 

Now that they were gone, Sam’s attention returned to the front desk. Lydia was sitting there in her usual spot, her nose buried in a copy of _Emma_. Dean was nowhere to be seen. 

He stood up and scanned the entire room but the other man wasn’t seated at any of the computers either. 

_Shit!_

Sam picked up his bag and was out of the room in under a minute. He wasn’t sure if it meant anything, but it had to mean _something_ that Dean was asking about Stanton, and he meant to find out what that was.  
  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

As soon as the elevator reached the ground floor, Sam flew out like a shot. 

He looked to his left then his right. One direction led to the quad. The other led to the parking lot. On gut feeling alone, he turned to the right and hurried towards the exit. 

Sure enough, when he rushed out of the door, slowed only slightly by a couple of grousing professors who seemed to be intent on avoiding their own classes, he spotted Dean already halfway across the lot. Sam skirted the pair and picked up his pace. 

He was only twenty feet behind him when Dean suddenly stopped mid-stride. Sam stopped as well, sure that he was about to be busted. He was already starting trying to come up with good reasons as to why he was more or less stalking the man. 

There were several buildings around them. Maybe he could just say he was on his way to class. It wasn’t as if Dean knew his schedule. He wouldn’t know the difference. 

But Dean never turned. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and looked at the display. His shoulders slumped a little but he touched the screen and continued walking as he raised the receiver to his ear. 

“Hey. Make it back okay last night?” 

The tone of his voice indicated he was speaking to someone he was concerned about and Sam’s ears pricked up at this. It was curiosity, plain and simple. That’s all. 

“Good. Remind me to look at that transmission when I’m over there next week. Don’t drive it again until I do.” A pause. “Yes I know you are more than capable...” Another pause, this time Dean sighed heavily. “Just tryin’ to help, El.” 

At this point, Dean had reached his car. And he was still on the phone. There was no way for Sam to stand there looking casual while he finished his conversation. He would just look like he’d been following Dean for the sole purpose of talking to him. 

Okay, so that’s exactly what he’d been doing, but there was no reason Dean had to know that. 

There was no way for it to _not_ be awkward, so he did what any normal, rational human being would do in this situation. 

He hid. 

Ducking behind the car across from Dean’s at a slight diagonal, Sam peeked through the back window of a little Mini Cooper and watched as Dean unlocked his trunk and sat the backpack inside. 

“Yes,” he said breezily to the person on the other end of the phone. “Yes. No, I won’t. I will be careful. I told you I would. Yeah. You too.” 

And then silence. 

Sam stood just a little, checking to see if Dean had finished his conversation so that he might hop up and go for the smooth, casual approach. As soon as his head cleared the top of the car he had stooped behind, Dean turned and Sam hit the ground like he was under attack. 

What the hell was wrong with him? 

He rolled his eyes at himself, cursing his own social ineptitude, and then moved back onto the balls of his feet. This time when he looked towards the shiny black Impalla across the way, he noted that the trunk was still wide open but the owner was nowhere to be seen. 

He stood up to full height and his eyes swept across the lot, searching. 

“What exactly are you doing?” 

Sam clutched his heart and fell back against the side of the tiny car that had been his shield. He blinked rapidly at Dean, who, as it turned out, had been standing right behind him and who now looked at him curiously, an eyebrow cocked and a funny little smirk on his face. 

“Holy shit! You scared the….” Sam wheezed and straightened trying to will his heart to stop tripping over itself. “Don’t _do_ that!” 

Dean gave him a dubious look. “Do what? Sneak up on the guy sneaking up on me?” 

“I-I wasn’t…” 

Dean simply stared at him, giving nothing away. 

Well, there really weren’t many options available so… truth, it was. “Okay. I was following you. A little.” 

“Well, no offense but you’re suck at it.” Dean folded his arms across his chest. “So want to tell me why you were following me ‘a little’?” 

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. For some reason he seemed to be having trouble _not_ focusing on how Dean’s hunter green tshirt had pulled tighter across his firm chest as he’d crossed his arms. “I, um, heard you ask the librarian about Stanton Hall. I was just…curious, with the accident last night… Why were you asking her those questions?” 

Dean bowed his head but looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye. There was a shrewdness there that Sam hadn’t noticed before. Like he was analyzing the situation to the nth degree. He evaded the question with one of his own. “Ever notice anything out of place? At Stanton?” 

Sam frowned. “I asked you first.” 

“I asked you second.” 

Sam sighed. Who could possibly argue _that_ sound kindergarten logic? “No. Nothing out of place.” 

“Ever get really cold out of nowhere? Things move? Disappear?” 

The line of questioning set him on edge. The inquiries were straight out of the non-existent hunter’s handbook. 

As soon as Sam had heard the words come out of Dean’s mouth as he asked Lydia about Stanton, the idea had formed. Like a whisper on the cusp of his subconscious, tickling and teasing. The idea was taking root now. Growing. Dean _knew_ something. 

Surely… No… He _couldn’t_ be. 

“Well,” he swallowed but it felt like he was forcing a piece of cotton down his throat. “It ... _is_ a dorm full of guys. Things get misplaced all the time.” 

_Could he be?_

Dean smiled and laughed lightly as if his own questions had struck him as amusing. “Right. The joys of having a roommate.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. He had to know for sure. “Dean, why were you asking about Stanton?” he asked, coming back to the original question. 

Dean brushed past him and moved in the direction of the Impala. “Working on a project,” was all he gave up, the words tossed nonchalantly over his shoulder. “See ya round, Freshy.” 

Sam’s eyes followed his movement. Watching him move gracefully across the black top, the muscles in his back noticeable through the thin material of his shirt. The way he held himself… It was powerful. It was self-assured. It was… 

Dean paused only long enough to reach up and pull the car’s trunk closed, but not before something familiar caught Sam’s eye. 

Hanging from underside of the trunk and glinting in the early afternoon sun, was a silver crucifix.  
  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

A hunter. 

Dean Winchester was a hunter. 

Within ten minutes Sam had made it all the way across campus but he didn’t remember a single second of the journey. He put one foot in front of the other, just like he’d been taught and he had walked in a type of zombified fashion right up to Stanton Hall. 

His mind cycled through all of the conversation that had taken place between them the night before. He thought about the simple things they’d talked about. The easy likes and dislikes kind of chat. Never once had one of them raised the topic of home life. Or their pasts. Not really. 

The idea that a hunter might be right under his very nose and Sam not realize it right away seemed improbable but not entirely impossible. Hunters were everywhere. They came in all shapes and sizes, all genders and creeds. 

But Dean? Of all people… 

He snapped out of it only when he blinked and realized he was already in the lobby of the dorm and was waiting with several other guys for the elevator to arrive. 

The yellow caution tape, he noted, was still plastered to the side door, warning people away from the stairs. But of course it was a building full of teen and twenty-something guys, all chock full of testosterone and recklessness. It was likely plenty of people were ignoring the barricade altogether. 

It occurred that he should take the stairs. Try to clear it out a little. Check on things as the ghost was still unknown and Sam wasn’t sure what might set it off again. 

And then it dawned on him. 

Dean Winchester was a _hunter_. 

He was a hunter that had felt the cold spot, same as Sam, and recognized the accident for what it really was. 

He was on the case! 

Sam knew about him but he had no idea Sam knew the difference between a wendigo and a whole in the ground. 

That was the answer to his problems! Dean would take care of things and Sam could wipe his hands of it and just… walk away. 

No getting pulled back in to the life. No getting his head all messed up with guilt and questions and what-ifs. It was a perfect win-win. 

As he unlocked the door to his room, he felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. It was beautiful. He flopped back on his bed with a smile on his face and cracked open his French textbook to prepare for his morning class. 

’Studious student Sam’ was back. Easy as that. 

His night was going to be full of conjugating verbs and not vanquishing spirits as he’d originally thought. And he couldn’t have been happier.  
  


[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

Sam had been holed up in his room for hours. He had left only once and just long enough to take a study break and grab dinner from the university cafeteria. It wasn’t so much that he was hiding, or so he told himself. He merely felt an urgency to be in his own familiar space so he made the break a short one and quickly returned to crawl into bed, determined to call it an early night. 

If Dean was any kind of hunter then he was going to wait until late at night, when the spirit was more likely to be present. He would also wait until the residents of Stanton Hall were coming and going with less frequency. It wouldn’t do to have a civilian caught in the crossfire. 

Around nine, after Sam had already shut off the lights and started working on sleep, Nathan had come back to the room, a girl in tow. They fell into the room giggling and making a game of pinching one another playfully. Occasionally they looked like they were about to fall on top of one another. They never even seemed to process the fact that Sam was in the room so he lay there in total silence, praying that they would just keep it down and not do anything that might deeply scar his psyche. 

Sam thanked all deities everywhere when the couple had just grabbed Nathan’s copy of Mario Kart and left straight away. From the looks of their interactions, his roommate would be gone for the duration of the night. 

This should have made him ecstatic. No roommate would mean that he might finally achieve a night of restful, uninterrupted, Playstation/Nintendo/Xbox-free sleep. 

Never had this been less true. 

Knowing that there would likely be an attempt on the ghost at any moment, Sam’s senses were all on high alert. His skin prickled and he lay there beneath his covers, hyper aware, awaiting any sound that might indicate the supernatural or Dean’s presence. 

He stared at the ceiling. He tossed and turned. He stared a little more. His eyes weren’t even the least bit heavy and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his heart to slow enough to fully relax. 

Sleep didn’t even seem like a blip on the horizon. 

Huffing in frustration, he turned his bedside lamp on and grabbed his Lit book in order to read more of the current assignment. 

He read and read and read and finished the book. So he turned back to the beginning and started the story over again. 

It was nearly eleven before he finally managed to fall into an uneasy slumber, his nose and cheek pressed flat against the pages of the book. 

Two hours later, though it only felt like minutes, Sam woke up to the not so gentle nudge of a full bladder. Half asleep, he rolled out of bed and wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants, he shuffled out of his room and to the communal bathroom. 

He closed his eyes as he did his business at the urinal and drifted in and out of a sort of microsleep. Within seconds, the sound of a subdued scuffle caught his attention and he glanced around the bathroom, suddenly wide awake. 

Turning his head to try and catch more of the sound, he finished and washed his hands then moved out into the hallway just in time to hear a clatter. It was much louder than the previous sounds and the cause was unmistakable. 

Something or someone had fallen down the stairs. 

There wasn’t even time to process the information and question if he should go. Years of training set him in motion within seconds. He passed through the door to the stairs and not seeing anything right away, he descended towards the lower landing. 

Halfway down the second flight, he jerked to a stop at the sight before him. Dean was lying bloody and unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. 

His mind flashed back to the boy that had only the night before suffered a similar fate. The guy was still in the hospital, hanging on by a thread. _Dammit!_

Sam jumped over the metal railing and landed deftly a few feet in front of Dean’s prone form. He dropped to one knee and felt for a pulse. Strong. Steady. 

He breathed a sigh of relief and watched as the breath misted a soft foggy white and curled on currents of air before his eyes. 

Cold spot. 

He looked around on the ground and spotted an iron crow bar that had rolled out of the other man’s grasp and now lay inches from his fingers. He barely had a good grip on it himself when the spirit’s image bore down on him, blinking on and off like a malfunctioning light bulb. 

Sam took a swing with the bar and the figure vanished along with the nip in the air. 

_Shit, shit, shit._

“Okay, think, Sam. Before it comes back. Get it together. This is _not_ your first rodeo. 

He looked down at the knocked out man at his feet and noticed the bag that was crushed beneath him. 

“Sorry, dude. Gotta see what we’re working with.” He pulled until he could slip the pack out and down Dean’s arm. Kneeling, he jerked the zipper open and rifled through the contents. If he hadn’t been certain about Dean being a hunter before, the bottle of lighter fluid and the pound of salt he was lugging around was a dead giveaway. 

At least he wasn’t dealing with some newbie that didn’t have a clue. 

Taking up the salt, he made sizeable ring around them both and then tossed it back in the bag, satisfied that the spirit would leave them be, at least for the time being. 

Sam crouched next to Dean and slapped his cheeks lightly. “Hey. Winchester. _Dean._ Up and at ‘em.” 

Dean’s eyelashes fluttered as he began to come to and Sam tried not to get distracted by how lengthy and thick they looked resting against the fair skin of his cheeks. His blinking became stronger until the green eyes were trained clearly on Sam’s face then narrowed in confusion. 

Not even giving him time to get his bearings, Sam held up his index finger in front of Dean’s face. “Follow,” he insisted firmly. 

Dean seemed to understand and complied without complaint. His eyes trailed perfectly after the finger, which moved in steady sweeping motions. Left and right. Up and down. Sam declared him to be fine and moved back to give him room to stand. 

“Anything broken?” he asked as Dean groaned pitifully while moving slowly and stiffly to his feet. 

“Oh, I don’t know. My pride?” Dean replied drolly. 

The other man ran his hands over his ribs as though checking for damage. He groaned and rotated his wrists. He rolled his neck and then glanced down at the ground. Sam saw it happening. Everything moved in slow motion and he was helpless to stop it. Dean did a double take. Sam held his breath as the other man’s gaze whipped around, eyes following the line of bright white salt granules against the grimy gray concrete floor. 

There was no missing what that meant. Dean wasn’t stupid. 

“Wh-… How…?” He closed his eyes and Sam could see pieces of the puzzle snapping into place. Dean turned his gaze on Sam and there was nothing but astonishment in the green depths. “You Freshy? You’re a hunter?” 

Denial was futile. “Uh… Used to be. Yeah.” 

“Are you serious? You?” He shook his head slowly. Sam sighed. “Yeah. Me.” 

“I just… Sorry, I’m having a little trouble believing that, of all people, _you_ are a hunter.” 

Sam tried not to take offense at the tone of utter confusion and disbelief. “Hey, believe me, I had the same reaction when I realized _you_ were.” 

Dean seemed to be working it all out. “Earlier today? Library?” 

Sam nodded and watched a grin light Dean’s face. He nodded and Sam thought there was an excitement to his expression. 

“Okay.” Dean stated, rubbing his hands together. “Okay. Two heads are better than one. Right? So let me catch you up.” 

“What? No. I’m good. Really. You seem to have this…covered,” he said, picking the crowbar back up and thrusting it into Dean’s hands. 

“C’mon. We work together here and that bitch ghost is history. No time flat.” 

“Sorry. I…I can’t. I’m not a hunter anymore. Like I said.” 

“What? What do you think this is, man? Debate club? You don’t get to quit this job and walk away. Believe me, I’ve tried.” His jaw twitched, as there was a split-second flicker of darkness that passed over his features. If Sam had blinked he would have missed it. “No. Hunting is the Cosa Nostra. It’s a black hole. It’s that fuckin’ island on Lost. There _is_ no escape hatch.” 

Sam’s fists balled up at his sides and he scowled. “I’ll thank you to let me figure that out for myself then.” 

Dean’s lips thinned, the excitement from before all but extinguished and disappointment left in it’s place. “Fine. You work on that. In the meantime, there’s a vengeful spirit next door to you and it ain’t neighborhood friendly. Are you honestly telling me you can just run back to your room with your tail tucked between your legs and pretend like it doesn’t exist because you’ve hung up your guns? How’s that gonna jive with your conscience? Gonna get a full night’s sleep knowing I’m solo out here with Casper the asshole ghost?” 

Sam shrugged noncommittally. He couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes but he refused to believe it was because Dean was right. 

He just didn’t want to be made to feel guilty. Especially by someone that knew absolutely nothing about him. That’s all. 

“Fine. Then go ahead. Go back to bed and snuggle up with that whole willful ignorance thing you’ve got going there. I’ll be just fine. I’ll find it and get the job done.” 

Dean zipped and shouldered his backpack then, with one last long expectant look at Sam, started up the stairwell. He gripped the crowbar tightly in his hands and rested it against his shoulder like a baseball bat poised to swing. 

Sam looked down at the salt line at his feet. The ring he’d made was still perfectly intact and it was safe behind that line. It was secure. Ghost-less. He wasn’t going to let the jerk get to him. He knew his reasons for quitting the life. 

If he followed Dean he would be crossing way more than just a salt line. 

He listened as Dean’s steps grew fainter. His floor was only a few flights from the top floor and at the top of the stairs there was a large metal hatch door that lead to the roof. At least that’s what he’d been told. Sometimes guys liked to go up there and drink. The sound of whining metal hinges as the door was heaved open, tipped him off to Dean’s location. 

So he was going to check the roof access? Sam knew it was a long shot that the stairwell would be the location of any supernatural tie. Just because the spirit had shown up there twice now didn’t necessarily mean whatever it was tied to wasn’t somewhere else in the building. It could all be the proverbial needle in the haystack. But Dean seemed determined to go over the place with a fine toothcomb and Sam figured if he _were_ involved, then he’d probably be checking anything and everything connected to the stairwell too. 

But he wasn’t involved. 

He _couldn’t_ get involved. 

Resolving to go straight back to his room and pretend like this had all been a bad dream, he began climbing back up to his floor. Before he’d even managed to pull the door open, he heard the sound of a gunshot. 

“Shit!” he hissed, ducking on instinct and looking wildly in the direction of the reverberating sound. 

The noise had been muffled but it had certainly been loud enough for others to hear. 

What the Hell was Dean doing? He’d have the cops on him in minutes! There was no way that went unnoticed! 

Thinking quickly, Sam lifted the plastic cover over the fire alarm placed on the wall next to the door and pushed the lever down. A deafening wail rang out throughout the building, alerting all inhabitants to a possible fire. 

Before every person in the dorm could hustle themselves into the very location he and Dean had been trying to keep them out of, Sam bounded up the stairs taking them two at a time until he reached the top. He glanced over the railing and watched as disoriented nervous looking students poured out onto the landings like bees from a disturbed hive. 

Some towards the top must have heard the gun shot because their eyes darted around making them look extra skittish, but he couldn’t worry about that. If a gun had come into play, either Dean was the worst hunter ever or things had gone sideways. Either way, it meant Dean was likely in trouble. 

He pulled on the almost vault-like door at the top of the stairs and let his eyes adjust to the darkness he found beyond it. He saw nothing but a dark, narrow hallway. 

Sam moved forward towards a dim shaft of muted light coming from the ceiling farther back in the cramped space. A sturdy wooden ladder that seemed to be attached to the ceiling hatch, was standing at the ready for someone to ascend it. Next to the feet of the ladder lay a discarded gun. 

Though every single tiny particle of his person told him not to, Sam bent and scooped up the gun. It was a small revolver. Sam flicked the gun to open the cylinder and spun it to see that only three bullets remained. He pulled one out and held it up to the light. Homemade. It looked to be covered with some sort of crystalline coating. Perhaps it was salt and perhaps Dean wasn’t the quite as lame a hunter as he had begun to fear. 

He tucked the gun into the waistband of his sleep pants and then climbed the ladder, sure that this was where he would find the other hunter. 

And find him, he did. 

The second his head was outside, he swept the roof for signs of immediate danger and if Dean sprawled on his back in front of a ghost which was bearing down hard and fast wasn’t immediate danger, Sam didn’t know what was. 

They were about thirty yards away and Dean was still moving. That was a good sign. He was angling towards the crowbar that was just out of his reach on the ground, but he seemed to have a disadvantage as far as time went. 

Distraction. 

“Hey! Asshole! Your ectoplasm is showing!” The ghost didn’t stop his approach but it did slow and glance at Sam just long enough for Dean to grab the iron bar and send it away, leaving only a wisp of smoke behind. 

“Shit,” he hears Dean mumble, getting slowly to his feet. 

Sam almost pitied him. He’s sure Dean was going to be dreadfully sore come morning. 

“Looks like I owe you again.” Dean wiped some loose dirt from the seat of his pants and eyed him in that bemused way that made Sam think Dean was still stuck on the information that he’s a hunter as well. 

“How about we save the chit-chat for when we actually find the thing and kick it to the curb permanently?” 

“We?” Dean looked to be struggling to suppress a smile, but it wasn’t working. His lips curled up at the edges and his eyes were dancing merrily as if to say ‘I knew you couldn’t resist!’ 

“Yes… _we_. It has come to my attention that you can’t handle this without falling on your ass every five minutes. If I don’t help I’m going to end up having to live with your stupid death on my conscious.” 

“Oh please. I was handling it just fine.” 

Sam just stared at him and he was sure if there had been more light on the top of the building, he would have seen Dean go red. 

“Okay fine,” Dean relented. “So I’m a little rusty. Not exactly ghost central out here.” 

Sam nodded thoughtfully. Just as Dean had no clue about his life, he had to accept that he too had no idea what might lie in Dean’s past. He would have to wait and reserve judgment for another time. 

“So did you find anything?” 

Dean used the crowbar, still in his left hand, to point towards the southernmost corner of the roof. “I was headed that way when the thing popped up and went ballistic. Something tells me that’s where we’ll find it.” 

“Whatever _it_ is.” 

Sam followed Dean and tried to step carefully as he padded barefoot across the warm asphalt membrane covered roof. 

There were several pipes and metal boxes that no one except perhaps the people that built the place knew what they could possibly be for or go to. There was a second larger hatch that, by way of educated guess, Sam figured would be the top of the elevator shaft. 

“So where do we start?” 

Dean didn’t answer. He just moved towards a large steel box that was roughly the size of a small Volkswagen. 

“This is where I saw it. The spirit. It was on top of this thing and then it just came right at me.” 

“All right. Give me a hand.” 

Together they pushed the heavy swing-top lid open and looked down into the gaping void beyond. 

“Hang on. I have a flashlight in here.” Dean dug in his backpack until he produced a small LED penlight. 

“Seriously?” Sam raised an eyebrow at the tiny stick of a light. 

“Hey… No shoes, no shirt, no criticizing, pal.” 

“Just put your tiny little flashlight in the hole, Winchester.” 

Sam could tell it was almost painful for Dean to ignore the jibe but he managed and together they leaned over to see what lie buried in the darkness. 

Dean gave a low whistle. 

Sam gritted his teeth. 

“Not good.” 

“No.” 

“Do we…should we burn it? Or let the cops take over?” 

They both started as the sound of a fire engine’s wail pierced the night air around them, adding to the bells and sirens going off from the building’s alarm. 

“Whatever we’re doing it needs to be quick.” 

Sam looked at the half-decomposed body in front of them. It wasn’t exactly likely that the guy had crawled up there by himself and laid down to die. He was put there. Which meant there had been a crime committed. 

“So the guy was murdered. But…if we leave him like this, what are the chances that he takes his frustrations out on someone else? We already have one person in the hospital because of this thing. It almost got you tonight too. It’s growing more active.” 

“It’s only a matter of time before someone else gets hurt. Maybe dies.” 

Sam nods. 

“Salt and burn, then?” 

“Salt and burn.”


	9. Adrenaline

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

By the time they had a good fire going on the roof, the half decomposed body disappearing beneath the angry orange fingers of flame, the fire trucks and police were already arriving on the scene. 

Glancing over the edge of the building, Dean watched the flurry of activity as residents were pushed back away from the premises and men in bright black and yellow suits ran headlong into the building. 

They made quick work of throwing everything back in the bag and retraced their steps down the hatch, Dean wiping down fingerprints with the bottom of his shirt as they went. 

As they closed the heavy steel door that lead to the roof, the sound heavy boots tromping on the stairwell filtered up to them and they shared a look of concern. 

No escaping now. At least not _that_ way. 

Sam waved his hand indicating that Dean should follow him and seeing as how this was Sam’s turf, he allowed him to lead the way. Honestly, after being so blind-sided by the night’s revelations (Sam was a freakin hunter!), not to mention the slight ass kicking(s) he’d received from ghost boy, it was probably better that someone else was there to take the lead so he didn’t haul off and do something monumentally foolish like walking off into a group of fire fighters and cops. 

Within minutes they had high-tailed it into Sam’s room and they busted through the door huffing and puffing and unable to fight the laughter that was suddenly bubbling up. 

It was the rush of taking down the ghost. It was the high of almost dying. Of almost being found out. And it was hands down one of Dean’s favorite perks of the job. 

Standing face to face in the center of the room, their laughter died away and soon their breathing calmed and they stared at one another. Sam swallowed and Dean watched engrossed as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and then back down beneath the tanned skin. 

He felt his heartbeat pick up speed for an entirely different reason than the events of the last twenty minutes. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and Dean’s hand moved up so that his fingertips ran over the exposed skin of Sam’s flank, still cool from being exposed to the night air. Sam’s breath hitched subtly and Dean’s eyes moved up to see him biting his bottom lip. The heat that was warming him inside, pooling somewhere low and deep within him, was clearly reflected back at him through hazel eyes. 

Within the span of a few heartbeats, he had Sam backed up against the wall beside his bed. He hadn’t even registered the movement but there they were; Sam flush with the wall and Dean flush with Sam. 

It began gentle enough with just the simple press of lips against lips. Experimental flicks of his tongue. But then Sam’s lips parted and Dean’s tongue ventured farther, sweeping hungrily into Sam’s mouth. Sam moaned at this. He moaned like Dean was succor to a starving man. Oh, how delicious the sound was. It shot straight to every part of Dean, his body buzzing and tingling in ways that made him believe there really might be a great and benevolent higher power looking out for him. 

Dean ran his tongue along the hard line of Sam’s jaw and placed hot open-mouthed kisses along the underside of his chin. All the while, his hands had captured Sam’s wrists and had trapped them against the wall beside his head. The taller man writhed against him; head thrown back and body searching for friction against the hard hot swell that Dean could hardly miss beneath the thin cotton sleeping pants. 

“Mmmm… What the…” Sam rasped as Dean sucked lightly on his pulse point. Dean smiled against the soft skin at the reaction. “What the hell is wrong with me? Why the hell am I-,” another moan, “so turned on? We just did a salt-n-burn on, uhn…dead…body.” 

He gently scraped his teeth over the sensitive patch of skin beneath Sam’s ear and then lapped it with his tongue before pulling back. “Haven’t you ever gotten worked up after a hunt?” he asked in a breathless whisper. “Endorphins? All of that adrenaline?” 

Sam sniffed a laugh, “I hunted with my parents. S’not exactly an…” Dean captured his mouth again, unable to resist, his teeth pulling at Sam’s lips. The other man gasped. “mmm…aphrodisiac.” 

Dean leaned farther away to take in the gorgeous man before him. The word _aphrodisiac_ reverberating through his head. The word fit Sam. An aphrodisiac. The man was desire personified and the sexiest thing about him was the fact that Sam didn’t seem to have a clue that this was the case. He seemed oblivious to his own appeal. 

He loosened his grip on Sam’s wrists and watched with intense fascination as his own fingers slid down the strong forearms and then made a foray back up to interlace with Sam’s fingers, as if they had a mind of their own. 

He thought about what Sam said. He’d hunted with his parents. Dean had hunted with his father too. Except, when they finished a hunt it had been standard practice that they would split up and…get their respective grooves on, as it were. His father had never hidden his predilection for the ladies, drinking, or gambling. For years the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree and that had been Dean’s normal. 

He’d gotten off on chasing that moment when your nerves were lit like a pilot light on steroids and everything felt hyper sensitive and hazy all at the same time. Like you were literally left high from the hunt. He’d never looked beyond that momentary satisfaction received by slaking his lust. He couldn’t imagine a life full of denying those baser instincts. 

He imagined a teenage Sam, nose buried in a book while his parents cleaned the weapons after the night’s hunt. His eyes on the words but his nerves frayed, crackling like a live wire, and his brain traveling to a million and one places; age and allegiance keeping him where his was but body chemistry urging him to break free. 

Suddenly he wanted nothing more in the world than to give those lost moments to Sam. To let him know what it felt like to ride that wave all the way to ultimate satisfaction. 

“What?” Sam’s tone sounded nervous and Dean realized he had been staring at Sam’s mouth, likely with a glazed look in his eye. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts. 

Dean gave Sam’s fingers a quick squeeze and with one last hard, urgent kiss, he sank to his knees. 

“Gonna make you feel it Sam,” he explained, looking up into Sam’s face. Taking in his kiss-swollen lips, which were just slightly parted in a mix of hunger and surprise. “Best thing ever in a moment like this. You’ll see.” He winked and his tongue swept across his lips, wetting them. 

“Fuck,” the taller man breathed. 

Dean curled his fingers over the elastic waistband of the sleep pants and gave a gentle tug. The thin material shifted easily and Sam’s cock sprang free from its confines, eager and proud. 

“Well, hello,” Dean said under his breath, too low for Sam to catch. His eyes drank in the sight. He was almost loath to move. 

He gripped the base of the long thick shaft and ghosted over just the head with his lips, his eyes flicking up to Sam’s face out of curiosity. 

Sam looked down at him with a natural wide-eyed expression, which looked a lot like trust, and carded his fingers through Dean’s hair. It captivated him. It made him feel as though he were kneeling before a master, longing to please. 

He swirled the tip of his tongue around the head of Sam’s cock and dipped into his slit, catching the slightly bitter taste of pre-cum. Sucking against the head, he heard Sam moan once more. He expected to see the man in the throws of ecstasy, but a quick glance up found the darkened hazel eyes still locked on his face. 

This wasn’t the first time Dean had been on his knees in front of another man. And yet it was the first time he could recall someone keeping their eyes upon him. As if they were struggling to remember every moment. 

Still gripping the base, Dean engulfed the rest of the considerable length, nearly deep-throating as his lips skimmed his fingers. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking and then released, letting it glide in and out of his mouth for a few strokes, unfettered. When it was nice and wet, Dean moved his head in tandem with his fist, jacking Sam’s dick even as he continued to suck him. 

Sam began chanting. 

If Dean hadn’t been so caught up in his own excitement and the heady feel of the moment, he might have been taken aback enough to chuckle at Sam’s reaction. Instead he whimpered and then groaned around the velvety steel in his mouth. He doubled his efforts, increasing the vacuum of his mouth and let his tongue sweep across the underside of Sam’s length until Sam was thrashing against the wall. Dean could tell he was trying not to fuck into Dean’s mouth and hurt him and in lieu of that Sam tightened his fingers in Dean’s short strands. 

It was easy enough to tell when Sam got close. Knew it because his words became nonsensical, stuttering, drawn-out vowels. The words were abandoned for incoherent moans and then all sound halted, as did his breath. 

Sam’s eyes were still on him, tongue caught between his teeth. Only when he came did Sam look away, eyes rolling slightly back in his head, lids sliding closed, an expression of pure exaltation settling over his features. 

Dean pulled off and continued to pump his fist as jets of milky white fluid erupted, splashing across his chin, neck and chest. Hot and wet and…hot. 

When Sam was finally spent, he sagged bonelessly against the wall. 

Using the bottom of his shirt to wipe cum from his chin and neck, Dean then reached for the back of his collar pulling the shirt over his head in a single quick motion. He wadded the cotton material up and let it drop to the floor. 

He sat back on his heels and found Sam in a state of semi-recovery. The taller man blinked down at him, all smiles. Dean decided then and there that Sam had the best smile he’d ever seen. The man seemed so often serious that when even the corners of his mouth lifted and his eyes lit up, it was like a burst of pure sunlight. It was nearly impossible not to return the smile, as bright and open as it was, so he did. 

And then he found himself laughing. 

“What?” Sam asked, looking a little goofy and punch-drunk. 

“Dude. Were you chanting in Latin?” 

A pink flush of discomfiture spread across his face and it was on Dean’s lips to tell him he’d kind of liked it, when a loud commotion broke the moment. 

“It’s on the roof!” They heard deep booming voice call out, just outside the door. 

Suddenly the door was thrown open and a large burly fireman in full gear stopped dead in his tracks. 

“You… uh, you boys gotta get out of here! Didn’t you hear the alarm?” 

Sam didn’t even look at Dean but Dean saw it happen. One minute Sam looked fucked out and sated and the next he had slipped flawlessly into the act of looking very very drunk. 

“Sssorry office…cer,” he slurred. “I…” he blinked heavily, his mouth starting to droop as though he’d lost his train of thought. 

Improvisation wasn’t his strong suit, but Dean ran with it, collapsing to the side a little and giggling before righting himself and then throwing his body in front of Sam and looking at the fireman with bright-eyed embarrassment over his shoulder. He tried to right Sam’s pants but made a show of fumbling with the material 

Sam growled and grabbed his hair and pulled Dean’s face directly into his crotch, eyes shut and groaning as though he’d totally forgotten the fireman standing there flabbergasted in the doorway. 

The guy was a far better actor than Dean would have given him credit for. 

“Can I get some help here?” The fireman called out. 

Dean felt completely on edge as he was physically pulled away from Sam by one of the men. It took everything he had not to yank out of the restraining hands. But he continued the charade, struggling just a little but then stumbling and pulling away to exit on his own two feet. 

He snickered, only partially for show, as he watched Sam’s tall frame go completely limp as a second smaller fireman hefted him with a surprising amount of grace onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. 

“I’ll get them out. You go help the others on the roof,” the second firefighter said to the first. 

Dean followed the man all the way down eight flights of stairs and Sam didn’t move a muscle to give himself away. It was almost getting worrisome. Dean started to wonder if Sam was really somehow knocked out. 

Towards the bottom of the stairs though, Dean let out a loud barking laugh as Sam opened his eyes and winked dramatically his way. 

The fireman didn’t even look back, likely assuming it was simply random drunken mirth. 

When they broke through the door, EMTs rushed towards them, but the fireman that had carried Sam simply eased him down onto a patch of grass behind the building. He shook his head at the medics and explained, “Kid’s just intoxicated.” 

“S’okay. I’ll watch him.” Dean promised, nodding earnestly. 

He’d lived most of his life behind a bar and had seen every state of drunkenness there was to see. In this moment, he employed the ‘I was just drunk off my ass but something happened to quickly sober me up and I should be able to handle my shit now’ face. 

“All right but _stay put_. There is a _fire_ on the roof. We don’t need anyone getting hurt trying to go back in the building.” 

Dean nodded again. “Yessir. T-Thank you,” he stammered. 

The man touched the brim of his helmet and with that he turned and rushed back towards the building. 

Dean eased Sam’s upper body into his arms as though cradling an overgrown baby and rocked slowly back and forth as his left hand gently moved up to rub against the slight scruff on Sam’s jawline. “S’okay Sammy,” he stage-whispered for the benefit of the uniforms that surrounded them. 

The female medic gave them a little smile and she too walked off with her partner in tow. 

Sam’s eyes were closed still and Dean didn’t move to let him go. He kept up the slow sway, to and fro, and he took a moment to really look at Sam. He stared down at the face of the guy that had saved his ass. Twice. 

It was still the same guy Dean had met only the week before. Only now the feeling of something being familiar about him made sense. 

Sam was a hunter. The knowledge still had him in something of a state of shock. And very little shocked Dean any more. 

He wondered what the guy’s story was and hoped he would get the chance to find out. 

“They’re gone,” he finally said. 

Sam blinked up at him and gave him a little smirk. “They’ve been gone for three minutes.” 

Of _course_ Sam knew that. 

Dean tried not to look too flustered at being caught. He coughed and shook his shoulders a little, jostling Sam who was still lying in his arms and across his lap. 

“My car is parked two blocks south. Wanna make a break for it before they think to question us? We can hide out at my place until things die down.” 

Sam stared up at him with a steady unreadable expression, still not making any move to extract himself from Dean’s arms. The look was intense though and the hard-on that had flagged once their party had been interrupted was finding new life. 

Finally Sam nodded. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” He pulled away and immediately Dean missed the heat of his body. “Besides. I think I have a favor to return.” 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

The ride from the dorm to Dean’s apartment was made in relative silence. Both of them seemingly lost in their own thoughts. 

Through the windshield, Sam saw the illuminated sign for the Hunter’s Point. Before, he hadn’t given it a second thought. Now he snorted at the irony. “Well the name definitely makes more sense now.” 

Dean looked over at him and then followed his gaze to the sign, an amused half smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah. Funny, I never thought I’d actually see another hunter there. Not in this town.” 

“Ex hunter,” Sam interjected quickly. One salt and burn wasn’t going to sway him from his chosen path. No way. 

Nor was that stupid pull he kept feeling towards the man in the driver’s seat. 

Sam automatically licked his lips as he remembered Dean on his knees before him. 

It was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his entire life. It was a miracle he’d managed to last more than two minutes with that vision before him. The sight of those beautiful pink lips curled around him, wet, slick, hot… 

He spread his legs and shifted in his seat as he felt heat beginning to coil in his belly once more. 

It was electric. His nerves singing and his blood rushing. Maybe there really was something to that whole adrenaline thing. 

Sam felt cheated that he’d spent so many years of his life not capitalizing on that pure raw energy. When he’d hunted with his parents, he’d taken to going on long runs after a hunt. It was the only way he’d known to burn himself out so that he could sleep. Now he wondered if his parents’ encouragement of this habit hadn’t been born out of more selfish reasons. 

He continued looking out of the window as the Impala turned off of the main street and onto a side alley that ran between two buildings. He’d never noticed the opening before. Behind the line of businesses there was a long parking lot. It was obviously for employees or for any patrons lucky enough to be in the know. There weren’t a lot of cars there at that time of night (or more precisely, morning) and he frowned in confusion as he realized Dean had pulled to a stop in a space just behind the Hunter’s Point. 

“I thought you said we were going back to your place.” 

“Yeah. And here we are.” Dean turned the car off and turned his head to look at Sam. 

“You live in a bar?” 

Green eyes rolled towards him, softened by a playful smile. “Apartment above it.” 

“Ah,” was all Sam could manage in reply glancing at the windows that must have made up a second floor that he’d not noticed before. 

“C’mon.” Dean opened the door and came around the front of the car, waiting until Sam joined him before moving to the back door. Sam followed him inside, glancing around at the narrow wood-paneled hallway, naturally taking stock of his surroundings. 

There was a door to the left and loud mellow music filtered through it along with the gentle hum of conversation. Obviously this door led to the bar. 

They passed it, for which Sam was grateful since he and Dean were both in nothing but pants. He was also still barefoot, he noted, his attire feeling thinner by the second. 

Before reaching a door at the other end of the hallway, likely leading out to the front sidewalk, Dean doubled back began climbing a staircase Sam hadn’t even realized they’d passed. 

The entire journey to the second floor took all of ten seconds but the sight of Dean’s denim-clad ass at eye-level left Sam gripping the banister and wishing for a few more flights. He didn’t know what had gotten into him… 

He must have made a noise (he didn’t remember making any noises) because Dean looked back at him as they neared the top landing and smirked. “Take a picture, Freshman. Lasts longer.” 

Maybe it was still the rush of all that had happened or maybe it was the high from being on the receiving end of the best blowjob in the history of blowjobs. All Sam knew was that his mind’s eye conjured up an instant montage of naked Dean. A full calendar’s worth of Winchester. It left him feeling a little light headed as blood fled once more from his upstairs brain. 

Unaware that Sam had slipped back into sexual overdrive, Dean jiggled the key in the lock. He pushed it up and to the left in a practiced move as though the lock had a trick to it that only the person that lived there would ever know. 

Sam stared at the strong lean fingers as they deftly moved and twisted and finally completed the turn of the key. 

Was the act of unlocking a door always this sexy and he’d just never noticed? 

Sam found himself pressed against Dean’s back. In a million years, he never would have imagined himself being so forward. He had never been the most confident person in the world, especially when it came to sex and relationships. It wasn’t like he’d had a lot of opportunity for anything on the road. He was still something of a novice to the whole thing. But with Dean… something about him drew out a side of Sam that Sam himself never really knew existed. 

His lips ghosted over Dean’s neck and his hand slid around the slightly shorter man’s side to rest just below his navel and barely above the waistband of his jeans. 

“Maybe I should,” he whispered. 

“S-should what?” Dean stuttered a bit, taken off guard by the unexpected reply. 

“You have a great ass. Maybe I _should_ take a picture.” 

“Ne-ever pictured you for the kinky type.” Dean leaned back into him and Sam felt himself slip into a trance as old as time itself, as he ran the tip of his nose up Dean’s neck and behind his ear. He moved his tongue lazily along the rim of the ear and he felt the other man shiver under his ministrations. 

Sam didn’t respond. Simply kept doing what seemed to be coming naturally. His other hand moved up and fingers slid over Dean’s shoulder and down, fingernails scratching lightly at his chest. 

The sound of the backpack hitting the floor mingled with Dean’s soft panting breaths. 

“Mmm… I… You… Like yours… Ahahaha...,” Dean fumbled lamely with his words ending with a breathy little laugh as Sam’s teeth closed gently over the fleshy lobe of his ear. Dean’s head leaned to the left, giving Sam more room to maneuver. 

Sam felt the power of the movement. Like a pack animal bearing its throat to an alpha, Dean was giving him the first inches of control. Something Sam had never had. Something he’d always coveted. 

“Gonna open the door?” he rasped against the graceful curve of Dean’s jaw. 

“I… Um… Y-yeah,” he panted, his fingers blindly reaching for the doorknob, missing it the first time and then finally gripping and turning it on the second try. 

Though he was loath to do so, he let his arms drop away and then followed Dean into the dimly lit apartment. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

They entered the apartment and Dean froze, the lust-fueled haze dissipating quickly. 

The lights. 

Typically he left one light shining in the hallway and one nightlight in the living room. Just enough to see by but not enough to allow any possible intruders an upper hand in a room he could have navigated with this eyes closed. 

The hall light had been extinguished. All that shone was the single miniscule bulb plugged into the wall socket by the front door. 

He threw his arm out, halting Sam’s progression into the room. Sam froze alongside him and looked to him for direction, seemingly reading Dean’s uneasiness. 

If he hadn’t been so honed in to the possibility of danger, he would have allowed his thoughts to surface, but he pushed them away for the time being. Still, they were there. The thought was that he liked that. Liked that Sam understood this part of his life and wasn’t standing there in blissful ignorance, as most people would have been. 

Sam did not, however, know the lay of the apartment yet so he held a finger up to indicate that he should not move. He turned his head to the side and listened hard before easing further into the room. 

A creak. 

He froze once more. He hadn’t made the sound, knowing exactly where to step to avoid the loud floorboards. 

Another creak and a thump. 

He frowned. It was coming from the hallway area where there was currently zero light. 

“Shhhit,” he heard a whispered curse. 

At this point he was across the room and as another slow creak sounded in the hallway, he rushed into the darkness and tackled the approaching figure. 

He connected hard and they both rolled and slammed into the far wall of the hall. 

A loud scream pierced both the silence of the night as well as his ear, which rang with the shrill sound even after the source paused for breath. 

“What the…?” he huffed, rolling quickly off of what he belatedly realized was a woman. 

The apartment was suddenly illuminated as Sam found the lamp in the living room and turned it on. They all blinked against the sudden light and the sound of feet stomping and swearing came from behind one of the doors of the hallway. 

The girl was panting and whimpering and had scooted herself back against the opposite wall. Her head was shaking and her long mane of curly brown hair fell in front of her face. Her hands raised to cover her head as if she were expecting a beating. Before Dean could say anything to attempt to calm her, the door on the left side of the hall was yanked open from the inside. 

“What in the world is goin’ on?” Garth asked, wide-eyed, taking in the scene. He emerged from the room in nothing but boxers and a baggy t-shirt and crouched in front of the girl. “Luce! You okay?” 

“Garth!” Dean snapped, frustrated. 

“It’s okay,” he gently stroked the girls shoulder. His friend looked back at hime and had the good sense to look sheepish. “Sorry, Dean. I know. I know.” 

“Get her out of here,” Dean ground out, his voice steely and unyielding. 

“Dean,” Garth started but immediately shut his mouth when he saw the supreme anger on Dean’s face. He nodded then and stood, lifting the girl along with him. “C’mon, Luce. I’ll take ya home.” 

Garth hustled into a pair of pants and lead the quiet, shaking girl out of the apartment. 

When they were gone, Dean rested his forehead against the wall and beat it gently against the dark paneling. 

“What…just happened?” 

Dean almost laughed. For just a second he’d forgotten Sam was there. He climbed to his feet and backtracked into the kitchen, retrieving two beers, popping the top of both bottles. One was thrust into Sam’s hand and the other he tipped up letting a third of the liquid flow straight down his throat before he moved his tongue to capture some of it on his tongue. He swallowed and used the back of his hand to swipe spillover from his chin. 

Only then did he answer. 

“That was my roommate. Garth.” 

Sam nodded. “I recognize him from the bar.” He took a tiny sip from the brown bottle and placed it on the countertop. “What about the girl?” 

Dean shrugged. “Some chick he picked up, I guess.” 

Hazel eyes narrowed at him and Dean felt as though he were under a microscope. “You always get that upset when he brings home girls?” 

There was so much he left unsaid. So much he wanted to say to Sam. He felt he might actually be able to trust him. Another new experience for Dean; Trust. But not with everything. Not yet. 

“Yeah. I don’t like people being here. I… Only people I’ve ever let in here was Garth and my adopted mom. And now you.” 

This knowledge seemed to distract Sam who blinked and his mouth formed a little ‘o’. “Really?” 

“Really.” 

“That’s some exclusive group. Like the Dean Winchester Secret Society.” He smiled that megawatt Sam smile at him and Dean laughed, so energized and relieved was he by the grin. 

He opened another beer for himself and lifted it in salute. “Never named it before but that has a certain ring to it. Well, Sam Campbell, welcome to the club.” 

Sam snickered. “What does this club entail exactly? Are we talking weekly meetings? Campouts and cookie sales?” 

“Merit badges,” Dean replied, straight faced. 

“Merit badges?” He arched an eyebrow at him, latching on to Dean’s sudden flirtatious mood. “Tell me more. What do I have to do to earn these badges?” 

Dean ran his fingers up Sam’s arm and watched as goose bumps appeared in their wake. “Why don’t I just show you?”


	10. One More Night

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

Dean pulled Sam down on top of him and kissed the swollen red lips, tasting himself there. 

When Sam had told him he wanted to return the favor of Dean’s earlier blowjob, Dean had figured maybe a quick hand job and a kiss goodnight might be his reward. As much as he liked Sam, he was still trying to reconcile Sam the hot and very capable hunter with Sam his cute, bookish classmate that he’d met only a week prior. It was clear to him now that Sam’s talents reached far outside of ghosts and textbooks. 

Dean’s vision was still swimming. 

“That,” he panted, holding Sam’s face between his hands, “was un-fucking-believable.” 

Sam smiled and cut his eyes away shyly. 

Dean laughed, a winded sound and let Sam lay his head down on his chest. “So adorable. I swear. You’re shy? After that?!” He combed his fingers through Sam’s hair and took a deep breath, his heart rate beginning to return to normal. “I know porn stars that couldn’t do what you just did.” 

He heard Sam scoff. “Gonna try to take that as a compliment.” His hand moved from Dean’s stomach to his chest and he ghosted his knuckles across his exposed nipple. 

Dean pulled air through his teeth and shrank away from the touch. His whole body felt hyper sensitive as though he might go off again with even the smallest touch. He’d just come so hard, he was afraid he might find himself unconscious if that happened again so soon. 

Sam seemed to know exactly what he was thinking because he chuckled, amused by Dean’s faint attempt at escape. “Evil,” Dean chided, his eyes starting to feel heavy. 

A few minutes later - at least he assumed it had only been a few minutes - he snorted and awoke to the sound of a key rattling in the lock. 

From his position on the couch, he watched Garth enter and stop as he caught sight of Dean, pants still around his knees, Sam sprawled out and snoozing on top of him. 

“Um…” Garth rapidly averted his eyes, lest he see something he didn’t want to see. “Hey. Um, about earlier…” 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Dean said, letting Garth off for the time being. 

“Yeah. Okay. G’night.” Garth quickly and wisely retreated to his room. 

There would have to be words. He couldn’t let Garth think it was okay, what he did. To Sam it had seemed as though Garth was just bringing some girl back to their place for a little fun. Dean knew the truth, though. And Garth was really testing his patience. 

No, more than that. He was testing their bond as ‘brothers’. 

Sam mumbled in his sleep and turned his head, nuzzling his nose into Dean’s shoulder and sighing before he relaxed back down and slept once more. 

Maybe he knew how to handle Garth, but Dean didn’t know what to do about _this_ situation. He wasn’t used to anyone being in his apartment. He’d taken great pains to make sure this was _his_ space, uninterrupted and unsullied by his life outside of his front door. 

And yet there was Sam. 

He’d invited him back on a whim. It was just good sense to leave the scene after the salt-and-burn but they could have hung out in the bar. He could have taken him to the nearby diner that Dean liked to frequent when he was having trouble sleeping. He could have done a lot of things. But something deep within him said that it was okay to trust the guy. 

Some part of him also didn’t want to walk away from him just yet. He wanted to pretend that it was all about sex. Wanted to believe it had something to do with adrenaline and being in the moment. In the end, he knew it was all bullshit. 

Fuck it. It was way too late to be working through his multitude of emotional issues. 

Dean was too damn tired. His eyes still felt heavy from his previous snooze and he really just needed another good four hours of sleep so he could be worth something come morning. 

“Sam,” he whispered, squeezing the other man’s arm gently. 

Like a good little tried and true hunter, Sam’s eyes were open and his focus keyed in to Dean inside of five seconds. 

“Shit. Sorry I dropped off on you, man. How long was I out?” 

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Not sure. Maybe half an hour?” He took in the pink line along Sam’s cheek where his face had rested against Dean’s chest. It was such an intimate mark for someone to wear. 

He shook his head, forcing his brain away from that particular train of thought. 

“Um… I’m going to bed. You cool here or do I need to drive you back to the dorm?” 

Sam shifted and let Dean move out from under him and off of the couch, yanking his jeans up as he went. 

Hazel eyes blinked blearily up at him in thought. “I probably shouldn’t go back just yet. Maybe in a few hours. No worries. I’ll just crash here and get a little more sleep.” 

“Sure. Just wake me when you want me to drive you back.” 

Sam shook his head. “No. I can walk. Thanks.” 

This gave Dean pause. It wasn’t that he necessarily wanted to wake up to drive Sam across campus. He just didn’t know how he felt about Sam not wanting him to. 

And then Sam grabbed the blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa and laid back down. 

“What are you doing?” 

He looked around the room and down at the blanket under his hand as if searching for something he might be doing wrong. “Going back to sleep.” 

“You have an issue sleeping in my bed?” 

“Um…” Sam looked a lot lost at the turn in conversation. “No?” 

Dean turned and walked down the hallway. “Waiting for an invitation in the mail?” he asked before he reached his room. 

He had already stripped out of his pants, slid under the covers, and was squirming happily in the familiar coziness when Sam finally wandered into his room. The taller man looked around but not intrusively. It was just a habit, Dean knew. Sam would be checking the place for hazards, easily accessible weapons, exits… 

He did stop for a second to gawk at the framed original poster for _Army of Darkness_. 

“Not _Evil Dead_?” he asked looking back at Dean over his shoulder. 

Dean shook his head, which was firmly buried in his favorite fluffy pillow. “Nah. _Army_ all the way. C’mon. Ash with a chainsaw arm.” 

Sam laughed. “Exactly. Ash with a chainsaw arm,” he replied as if the absurdity should be fairly obvious. He pulled the covers back and slid into bed. 

What happened a few minutes later, just as he was about to doze off once more, Dean was at a loss as to how it came about, but suddenly he was on his side and Sam was… Well, there was no other word for it. Sam was spooning him. 

Trying to decide if it was worth complaining about, Dean sighed and then gave in, sinking back against the warm body behind him. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

Morning came like a freight train screaming through Dean’s head. 

He blinked against the light streaming through his blinds, wondering when he had opened them, and yawned hard, his arms unfurling out and to the side in a starfish stretch. 

When his arm hit nothing but sheet, it occurred to him that something was missing. Or rather some _one_. 

He readjusted his head on his pillow and pursed his lips. Sam must have walked back to the dorm, he concluded. 

Good. 

That was good. 

Maybe now he could get a handle on whatever this whole… _thing_ was that had him inviting the guy into his apartment and into his bed. 

It had to be the hunter thing. The kinship and comfort-level he felt with him had to stem from that. Although, technically he had liked him before he knew. No, it wasn’t just that he was a hunter. He had actually started to consider him a friend before he knew Sam was a hunter. 

They had so much in common. It was almost natural that they would be friends. 

Except now they had something physical between them too. And Dean didn’t like to bring sex into friendship. Not that he was thinking much about friendship as he was on his knees the night before. 

The truth was, he was in too deep with things as it was. Dallas and his cronies… Well him suddenly developing some sort of feelings-or-whatever for the Freshman would bring on nothing but complication. It was the last thing he needed. 

The very last thing. 

Surely he was over-thinking this though. Surely Sam wasn’t interested. With his ‘ex-hunter’ nonsense, the guy was convinced that he had left the life behind him. Wanted nothing more to do with it. With that being the case, it seemed more likely that Sam would be scrambling away from Dean as fast as his feet would carry him. 

Yeah. That was more likely than Sam ever wanting more. 

Yeah. 

He ignored the little knot that this thought left in his stomach and rolled to the edge of the bed, grabbing his phone and checking the time. 

“Fuck!” he swore, sitting up and punching his comforter. It was already eleven. How had he managed to sleep that long? “Guess psych class is out of the question today.” 

He stumbled into the bathroom and took care of business before turning towards the kitchen where he heard Garth moving around, banging pans. 

“What the hell are you doing, dude? You can’t cook. You burn water,” he joked, rubbing his eyes as he leaned against the doorway. 

“I’ve been told I make a mean pot of water, thank you very much.” Sam’s voice answered him back. 

He dropped his hands and stared at the man, still dressed only in the sleep pants he’d been in the night before. He had several cabinets open and was holding two different sized skillets, one in each hand. 

At Dean’s frown, he shrugged. “I realized I probably shouldn’t go out in public with nothing but pants on. Didn’t want to wake you, though. Figured I’d make myself useful and make breakfast. Er, lunch…I guess.” 

“I didn’t even know we _had_ food in there,” Dean half smiled and indicated the aging refrigerator. “What about classes?” 

“Cancelled for the day. Check your phone. We all got the alert. Turns out a body was found on the roof of the boy’s dorm. Can you believe it?” Sam said with a surprisingly believable amount of shock in his voice. If Dean hadn’t stood directly beside him watching the body burn, he might have wondered if Sam really hadn’t known. Then he remembered the superb acting skills Sam had displayed while ‘drunkenly’ swaying over onto the firefighter the night before. He couldn’t hold back the chuckle that surfaced at the recollection. 

“Wow. That’s…horrible,” Dean played along, although his act was ruined by the smile that seemed plastered to his face all of a sudden. 

“So, is this okay?” Sam asked, holding the skillet aloft and nodding towards the stove. 

“Yeah,” The knot that had formed in Dean’s stomach previously, unwound itself and wiggled around making him feel queasy and fluttery all at once. “Yeah, it’s okay.” 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

He’d stayed in hundreds of questionable hotel rooms and hostels and dozens of hunter’s houses. For a year they had even chased hunts down in an RV. Never had he forgotten where he was. Never had he relaxed enough to forget himself in his surroundings. 

When Sam woke up that morning, it was the first time in his life he had needed to stop and think about where he was. 

It was Dean. That’s what had thrown him off. 

He had awoken to the feel of Dean’s backside pressing back into his morning wood. 

Before he could think about his actions, Sam had wrapped an arm around Dean’s chest and pulled the man closer to him. He had brushed his lips against Dean’s neck, automatically just as he had only hours before. His hand rubbed circles into the man’s firm stomach. His top leg slid up and forward until it was sandwiched between both of Dean’s legs. 

A deep hum of satisfaction could be heard coming from Dean as he covered Sam’s hand with his own and twined their fingers together. 

At this, Sam’s eyes snapped open. 

He was in Dean’s bed. And he was snuggling. Snuggling _with_ Dean. 

The whole thing seemed … surreal. 

Sam felt like his brain had been scrambled over the last twenty-four hours. 

He had gone from wanting Dean, to wanting to be his friend, to finding out he was a hunter, and right back to wanting him again. All of his feelings on the situation felt jumbled. 

Dean was a hunter. 

That thought should have trumped all other thoughts. But something was different about him. He wasn’t the typical hunter. He wasn’t touring the country, looking for things to take down. He was running a business. He was going to school. Those things couldn’t be overlooked. 

Still… Despite the whole ghost issue the night before, Sam had enjoyed himself. He’d enjoyed hanging out with Dean the night before that too when they’d talked for hours. It was something he couldn’t claim to have done – not sincerely and not when he was truly and honestly being himself – for a very long time. Maybe not ever. 

He just didn’t want to over-think anything. Dean was a notorious flirt. He was a nymphomaniac according to Sara. Craig had specifically warned him against thinking anything about spending time with Dean. Dean wasn’t going to want anything more than a quick fuck. 

And yet, couldn’t they be wrong about that? Obviously there was so much they didn’t know about him. They didn’t _know_ the real Dean. Not really. 

Said everyone defending a crappy relationship, ever,” Sam whispered to himself. 

There was no doubt Dean had his fair share of sex. But he also told Sam the night before that he’d never allowed anyone else into his apartment. Somehow Sam was different. 

It was a moot point. Someone like Dean didn’t stop fooling around with anything in shoes for someone like Sam. It wasn’t the way the world worked. 

He knew he was thinking way too hard about something that probably didn’t matter one iota, but it was his way. He analyzed things to death. 

Now several hours later, there they were; Omelets devoured, empty plates soaking in the sink for the time being, and the two of them curled up together on the sofa watching _Shawn of the Dead_. 

At one point, as Sam began to doze off, he felt Dean’s lips on the top of his head. 

He smiled and allowed himself to relax fully into a short nap, head resting against Dean’s chest once more. His last thought being that analyzing, though a necessary evil, could wait a little while longer. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

By the time Garth returned from his afternoon shift at the bar, Dean and Sam still hadn’t moved off of the couch where he’d left them. They had moved on from movies, he did note, and were now deeply engrossed in a game of Scrabble. 

“Hey…guys,” he said, transfixed by the slightly unbelievable scene before him. He didn’t even know Dean owned Scrabble, much less knew how to play. He was also still getting used to the idea that Dean had allowed someone into his sanctuary. 

“Hey, Garth,” Dean said distractedly, staring hard at the tiles Sam was setting out. 

When he finished his word, Sam smiled up at him a little shyly and waved. 

“Dude, V-E-Y-N-E is not a word,” Dean announced. 

“Yes it is. Veyne.” 

Dean shook his head. “In what language is that a word? I told you, no more using other languages. We are playing this game in **English**.” 

“It _is_ English! It’s _Middle_ English. So ha!” 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his index finger. A sure sign he was getting frustrated and was about to blow. Garth had been on the receiving end enough to know the signs. He braced himself but the inevitable rage never came. Instead, Dean’s hand fell away. He narrowed his eyes and a shit-eating smile curled his lips. 

“Alright. Okay. Middle English.” He laid out several letter tiles and sat back on the sofa in grand satisfaction. “Q-U-O-D Triple Letter Score, Triple Word Score, I win and you can suck it! So HA!” 

Sam rolled his eyes heavenward but then laughter bubbled up and he smiled ruefully at Dean. Garth looked on as Dean actually leaned towards Sam and captured his lips in a quick kiss, lingering in his space for a few more seconds, the two of them staring into each other’s eyes. 

Garth began to feel like he was intruding on a moment so he took that as his cue to leave and moved quickly to his own bedroom. 

For a moment he stood there thinking about what he’d just witnessed. Actually he had no idea what he’d just witnessed. 

His ideas ranged from Dean actually finding someone to this being just another part of Dean’s insane plan to avenge Jo. The first idea had merit but seemed too far-fetched for his single-minded friend. The second idea… Well, that seemed more likely but also frightened him. If this was just another part of Dean’s plan and he was allowing it into his home, then things were getting deeper and far more dangerous than Garth had ever imagined. 

He sighed heavily and knew that all he could do for now was hope that his friend would be careful. 

And maybe he would make a few calls. Figure out exactly who this Sam person was. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

“So, I should probably get back,” Sam murmured against his mouth which had been thoroughly exploring Sam’s own mouth for the last several minutes. “I didn’t really expect to spend the day here.” 

“Yeah. The day just kinda…slipped away on us.” 

Dean had been a little floored to realize it was already eight when Garth had come back up from his shift. The day had passed swiftly but it had been one of the nicest days he’d had in a very long time. He didn’t really want it to end. 

But that was silly, sappy nonsense. 

“Mind if I borrow a shirt?” Sam began picking up the Scrabble pieces and putting them back in the game bag. 

Dean smiled at the idea of Sam wearing one of his shirts. “Don’t know if I have anything that will fit. I don’t really shop in the Extra Tall section.” 

“No worries! I could totally pull off a crop top,” Sam remarked with a playful cockiness. 

He stared at the hard, defined chest and the rippling ab muscles. He’d been in the company of a shirtless Sam for nearly twenty-four hours but had yet to grow immune to the sight. Actually, Dean thought it would be a damn shame to hide it away at this point. 

Once the game was put away, Dean stood and went to retrieve a shirt and his keys from his room. He grabbed one of his favorite AC/DC shirts figuring Sam would like that, then glanced around the room for his keys. Finally spotting them on his desk half under his bag, his hand hovered briefly over them but did not pick them up. 

When he came back into the living room, he held the shirt open in front of him and Sam gave a nod of approval. “Niiiice!” He snatched it away and held it against his chest. “You know you’re never getting this back, right?” 

Dean went to grab it from Sam’s hands in mock outrage but Sam was faster and held it behind him, just out of Dean’s reach. 

“Thief!” Dean cried out softly, his body pressed against Sam’s as he tried to recover his t-shirt. 

Sam laughed boisterously and accidentally let his arm fall just enough for Dean to get a hold on the material. Instead of ripping it out of Sam’s hands, though, he grabbed the fabric with both hands and used it as a sling with which he pulled Sam closer still. 

Dean said. “I think you’ve forgotten something.” 

“What’s that?” Sam asked a little breathlessly, his lips moving forward to rub softly against Dean’s. 

“My winnings?” 

“Winnings?” 

“Scrabble,” Dean explained. “Remember?” 

“Oh yeah. What do you want?” 

Technically they hadn’t bet on the game but Dean needed to see where this might go. 

“Stay. One more night.” 

Sam blinked rapidly and moved his head just out of kissing range. “Stay? You aren’t tired of me yet?” 

Dean pulled the shirt up and draped it around Sam’s neck before running his hands down Sam’s back and grabbing his firm ass. “Guess not.” 

A hand wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck and he was pulled forward with the slightest pressure until Sam’s lips were covering his own. The man mapped out his mouth and when they came up for air, Sam’s grin was one that promised so many wondrous things. 

“One more night?” Dean whispered. 

“One more night,” Sam echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, these two. I have such plans for them so I'm curious to know if you like the direction this is going. Let me know what you think!_


	11. PWP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
> So I decided to name this chapter exactly what it was. Porn sans the plot. Not that there isn't plot. It's kinda intermingled. I just wanted to give the boys a little boost before we start getting into the deeper plot. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to add that I'm generally always nervous about writing sex scenes. I'm pretty self-conscious about the whole thing because I write what I see in my head and I feel like either everyone is put off by it or else I don't communicate it well. So...I don't know. If you have any words of advice on that particular subject, please give 'em to me now! I'm writing another, very sex-centered, story right now and its sort of my own private nightmare. HA!

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

Sam stood in the shower for what felt like ages, letting the hot water beat against his skin. 

Dean’s shower was pretty damn small and he had to duck down to get his head under the spray but that was par for the course for someone as tall as he was. He’d just forgotten what it was like to have a shower with real water pressure. 

Heavenly didn’t seem like too strong a word. 

He was also grateful for a moment to himself. 

He had no idea what to make of Dean asking him to stay the night. He had a pretty damn good idea what was on both of their minds, of course. Hell, he’d been half-hard all day long. 

Still, the Dean he’d laid and watched movies with, talked to, played a freakin’ board game with (at Dean’s suggestion, no less)… This was a different Dean than the guy who’d shown up to their first Lit class with a date in tow. Different than bartender, partygoer, flirts-with-anything-that-breathes Dean. 

This Dean was a guy that held intelligent conversations about music, books, life… This Dean teased mercilessly but not meanly. This Dean was a guy that told him stories about being raised in a bar and learning to hustle pool by the time he was twelve. He told the story and only mentioned the woman who raised him in passing but Sam recognized that his eyes were just barely concealing a flood of buried emotion and care. Within this space, he spoke with a sincerity and humor that made Sam want to remain in his presence. That quelled concerns and encouraged a sense of ease between them that Sam had not really felt with another human being since … since he couldn’t remember when. 

He liked this Dean better. That was what worried him. He could see himself getting in way too deep with this guy but how could he really know if this was the ‘real’ Dean? 

Last thing he wanted was to actually go and start liking- 

No, scratch that. It was too late for that. He already _liked_ him. Obviously. 

Last thing he wanted was to do was do something totally foolish like actually _fall_ for him and then find out that this was all just some part of his modus operandi. 

Sam was a seasoned veteran in dealing with the supernatural, but even he was acutely aware that he was a novice when it came to interpersonal relationships. It would be all too easy for someone to screw him over and he would never see it coming. 

Something told him to trust Dean, though. He couldn’t name it. It was just that little voice in the back of his head. That feeling he got when he was on a hunt and that ‘something’ told him to move one way or another. 

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist before padding barefoot down the hall to Dean’s room. 

“Uh…” Dean jaw dropped as he peered at Sam from where he sat in front of his laptop. “Yeah… Oh, Hell.” He jumped up and moved to stand in front of Sam, pulling him forward by the front of his towel, just enough so that he could close the door. 

“What?” He asked, feigning ignorance. 

He might not be an expert at the whole relationship thing but he wasn’t totally clueless when it came to certain aspects. Sex for instance. 

Dean’s eyes roamed freely over his naked torso. He’d purposefully not dried himself, knowing exactly what the image of a wet man, whether it was by sweat, rain, or shower, did to _him_. Surely Dean would be no different. 

The gamble paid off if the look in Dean’s eyes told him anything. He looked like a coyote in a henhouse. 

“Damn,” he swore, looking torn. 

“What?” Sam repeated. 

“I, uh… just ordered pizza for us,” he swallowed hard, looking borderline devastated. “It should be here in, like ten… Mmm…” He ran a finger down Sam’s chest and followed the line of a sliding droplet until it reached and was absorbed by the thin towel. Dean drew in a long breath and held it for a second. “Fuck it! I’m not really all that hungry anyway.” 

Sam grinned then. He found that he was enjoying Dean’s approval of his appearance. 

“Why? You planning on not eating?” Again he pretended confusion. 

A wolfish smile split Dean’s face and suddenly Sam could read him like large-print book. 

The blush that crept up his neck and the heat that spread up to the tips of his ears at that point was neither faked nor feigned. 

Dean didn’t move forward. He stayed right where he was, toe-to-toe with Sam, but not touching. He leaned forward just enough to drag his tongue slowly across Sam’s collarbone. 

His breath hitched and his fingers curled in and straightened again at his sides. He wanted to grab Dean, crush the man to him, toss him on the bed and have his way with him. Instead he stayed stock still waiting to see what would happen. Where Dean would take it. 

Dean pulled back and licked his lips, gathering the water that he’d captured there. “Amazing.” 

“Amazing?” 

Dean nodded and ran a hand up Sam’s chest, stopping as he curled his fingers over the side of his neck. “Never seen anyone quite so… beautiful.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Come _on_! Dude, I’m already standing here naked-” 

“Mostly naked,” Dean corrected. 

Sam yanked at his towel and it pooled around his feet. His eyes remained locked on Dean’s, whose eyes had predictably moved south. “Like I said, I’m standing here _naked_. So you really don’t need to lay on the lines.” 

Dean laughed a little. Not with humor but more the way someone laughs when they have nervous energy and no way to expend it. “Not… not a line, jerk. You _are_ beautiful. Incredibly beautiful.” 

“That sounds really gay,” Sam teased, unable or unwilling to let the interaction turn in a direction that seemed too serious or too much like it meant something. “Or like I’m a girl.” 

“Oh, no, I’m perfectly aware you are no girl,” Dean’s eyes flicked quickly downward once more. “Alright, you big _man_ you. Fine. You’re smokin’ hot. Got a body that makes my mouth water. A cock that should be molded and sold as a sex aid. Make me wanna fuck you into next week.” His voice had gone deeper and towards the end of his hot little tirade, it had begun to sound more like a growl. 

If Sam hadn’t been hard before, his dick could probably cut glass after that. 

Dean tilted his head to one side, looking slightly up at Sam. “Better?” 

Sam swallowed hard, still so out of his comfort zone it wasn’t even funny. Not so much because he was naked but because Dean’s eyes were devouring him in the sweetest most intense way. “Y-Yeah. Yes. Much.” 

“But you’re also ridiculously beautiful. So shut up and take the damn compliment.” Dean grinned and pulled him forward with the gentle press of his fingers on Sam’s neck. When their lips met it was slow and unhurried. It was a kiss meant to lend support to the softly spoken words. 

As they separated, Sam blushed again but tried to cover up his slight discomfiture over the compliment with a flirtatious smile. “I’m also quite alone in this whole clothing-optional party. Care to join me?” 

“Always up for a good party.” Their eyes never broke but Dean tugged at the t-shirt he’d slipped into while Sam had been in the shower. Sam helped him peel it up over his arms and head and then tossed the garment over his shoulder towards the door. 

Dean went to push his jogging pants down but Sam stopped him and pulled his hands away. He eased his own long fingers under the waistband of the red pants at Dean’s hips. He moved his hands down, skimming along Dean’s warm skin and the pants eased down as well, riding along the tops of his fingers. 

When the stretchy band passed his muscular thighs, the fabric fell and Dean stepped out of it with one foot and kicked them across the room with his other. 

Neither looked to see where the pants had landed, it didn’t matter, but they chuckled at their own exuberance. 

Sam’s eyes were the ones that traveled downward now, seeing Dean completely exposed for the first time. It felt like having an epiphany. Like something in his reality had shifted at the sight of the naked man before him. “If I’m beautiful, then I…don’t even think a word exists for…” Sam stopped speaking, knowing the words would sound somehow contrived after Dean’s own declaration. No matter how true they might be. 

Actions spoke so much louder than words. 

With that in mind, he went about showing him what he was trying to say. Sinking down to his knees, he worshiped at the altar of Dean Winchester. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

It wasn’t necessarily always a point of pride to admit it but Dean had experienced more than his fair share of lips wrapped around his cock in his relatively short life. 

In all his years of experience, he could in all honesty say that the man in front of him seemed to have some sort of God-given talent for the act. It was as if Sam sucked lightning out of his spine. Dean figured it had just been a fluke the previous night. Maybe he was a one-trick pony. But as electricity crackled through him and his toes flexed hard heralding his approaching orgasm, Dean knew this was all Sam. 

“Wait, wait…” he gasped, pushing at Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam sat back on Dean’s knees where he was straddling him on the bed and looked down at him, brushing hair out of his face. “Everything okay?” 

Dean wanted to laugh. Was he fucking kidding? “Yeah. Oh yeah! Just wanted to… Hmm,” he groaned and pulled Sam back down, tucking him under one arm and rolling them over until Sam was on his back and Dean hovered over him. He smiled down at Sam, praying they were on the same page. He raised an eyebrow in question. 

“Ah,” Sam smiled, getting where Dean’s head was at perfectly. “Yeah,” he nodded. 

Dean let out a relieved breath and placed a hand over Sam’s chest, rubbing small circles as he kissed him leisurely and willed himself to calm down. Draw it out. Make it last. 

Eventually, he moved a hand down the long luscious form beneath him, taking a moment to squeeze and stroke the hard length that was laying heavy and leaking pre-cum onto his belly. A grunt and the sweetest keening sound he’d ever heard was his reward. 

He leaned in and Sam captured Dean’s tongue between his teeth as he’d tried to lick into his mouth. It didn’t hurt. It was just a soft stop before Sam proceeded to gently suck on his tongue. Dean moaned as the sensation sent sparks shooting straight to his cock spurring him to rub himself against Sam’s thigh. 

It was no use. He needed inside. Like, now. Wanted it more than he thought was physically possible. 

His fingers moved downward, skimming along Sam’s balls and then circling the puckered hole that lay beyond. The tip of his finger put just the slightest amount of pressure against the soft flesh and Sam jumped. 

Dean paused and glanced up at the man, forcing his higher brain to catalog the situation. Sam’s body was tense; his hands had the comforter gripped in white-knuckled fists. The deep hazel eyes were squeezed shut. He reached up and ran his thumb over Sam’s furrowed brow. 

Either it had been quite a while or Sam wasn’t used to being the bottom. He wasn’t sure which it was but he knew he couldn’t go ramming in like they were drunk dudes in the bathroom at a kegger. His usual hookups required little more than a condom, a drop of lube, and a quick pounding. But Sam was not his typical hookup. 

Sam wasn’t a typical anything. What that meant, he didn’t know, but he could explore that at a later date. 

“Hey,” he rasped, placing the hand casually back on Sam’s leg. 

Sam blinked up at him slowly. 

“Been a while?” 

A nod with pursed lips and eyes that wouldn’t quite meet his; that was his answer. 

“You want to though. Right?” 

He had to be sure. He was a lot of things but someone that pressured people into sex was not, and had never been, one of them. 

Sam smirked and rolled his eyes. “Duh.” 

“Gonna make sure you’re ready first then. Okay?” He asked talking Sam through it. 

“S’okay Dean. Not gonna break. Want you inside me,” he said, his words growing bolder. Dean saw through the false bravado. 

“Don’t think you’re gonna break. Just want it good for _both_ of us.” 

Perhaps it was imagined but he thought he saw the light of relief in Sam’s eyes. He wondered what had happened to make him seem so skittish. Likely someone in his past had been rough. It was entirely possible, even if he couldn’t begin to imagine that it was probable, that Sam had never had a proper fuck in his life. 

He remembered the preppy clothing, the bag chock full of school supplies, and the uptight attitude of the man he’d met the week before. If there was a candidate for needing a proper fuck, Sam was it. 

And Dean felt that one of his virtues was that he was a giver. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

Ten minutes later, Sam was nearly falling apart at the seams. 

“Dean,” he gasped, mouth gaping slightly and eyes rolling in his head. 

How had he never experienced this before? 

Dean scissored his fingers and then slid the digits forward to graze tantalizingly against Sam’s prostate in a pattern he’d repeated several times previously. Each time the jolt of electricity this produced, drew more and more vocal replies from him. He’d never been loud. He thought it odd when he heard of people screaming out during sex. Yet there he was muttering and cursing and moaning like a cat in heat. 

And Dean drank it all in. Not that Sam was paying much attention to much more than Dean’s fingers at that very moment. But when he did glance up at the other man’s face, Sam thought it was almost sadistic the way Dean watched with a smile as he squirmed and bucked beneath him. 

He seemed to double his efforts, hitting that magnificent little spot within Sam that made him want to build a shrine in Dean’s honor. Sam arched up once more, heels grinding into the bed and the muscles in his neck strung taught. 

“So hot, Sam. Gah-dam baby.” Dean whispered, his voice sounding husky and strained. “Can’t wait to get in there. So damn tight. So hot,” he repeated. 

Whether Sam’s reaction to this was from the words or the sound of Dean’s sexually charged purr, he couldn’t be sure. He only knew that it made him want to give Dean a show. Made him want to be wanton and slutty. It called to him to give it all over, to surrender. 

“Yeah Dean. Fuck me!” Sam cried out, his eyes growing darker. His fingers released the sheets that he’d had a firm grip on and he ran his fingers down his own body until one of his hands rubbed at his own neck and the other wrapped around his cock, now nearly purple and throbbing, so great was the need for release. “Want you inside me.” He writhed, needing friction against his whole body. It was as if his skin was aching to be touched by another’s skin. By Dean’s skin. “Please, Dean. Please put it in. Want you so bad.” 

Sam knew he’d gotten to the other man with his pleading words. He might have been worried about the intensity of the gaze that was turned and laser focused on him if he wasn’t in the exact same frame of mind. 

“Shit! Fuck but I want…!” He let out a pent up breath and seemed to want to say more though he didn’t. His wonderfully skilled fingers brushed against Sam’s prostate one last time and Sam couldn’t hold back the hiss it created. 

He could take no more. 

“Dean… need it!” 

And steadily the fingers were withdrawn. The sensation and loss made him whimper. 

Dean leaned down and licked flat tongued against the crease of Sam’s leg, just below his hip. He punctuated the movement by sucking on the pale skin there. It would leave a mark and Sam sort of liked the idea of that. That tomorrow, when he was lying in his cold hard twin bed, he would look down and see undeniable proof that this had transpired and hadn’t just been an awesome dream. 

“What’s the magic word?” he asked, creating a second mark on the inside of Sam’s thigh, causing him to bite his lip to keep from crying out again. 

“Asshole,” Sam gasped a moment later, still coherent enough to catch Dean’s playful question. 

Dean chuckled. “That’s correct.” He grabbed the condom from where he’d dropped it onto the bed when he’d retrieved the lube earlier. Sam plucked the latex circle from his fingers and proceeded to rip it open and roll it onto the rock hard length for him. 

“So fuckin’ sexy, Sam,” the man growled. 

Sam felt it too. He felt _so_ damn sexy as Dean watched him carefully while he used the lube to slick himself. 

When he was ready, Dean, with one hand braced against the bed, rubbed his other hand over Sam’s hip and then around to the back of his leg. He nudged the back of Sam’s knee and lifted it just enough to ease the long leg over his shoulder. 

Sam’s eyes slid closed more on instinct than any other reason. 

“Sam,” he heard Dean whisper. “Look at me.” 

Hazel eyes met green and in that moment Dean silently asked for trust. For permission. And he received it. For better or worse, Sam gave it without a second thought. 

Dean slid in slowly. Even with lube and having stretched Sam thoroughly, he still had to work himself in with several gentle rolling thrusts. 

It wasn’t enough. Sam’s brain was screaming out in need. _Faster! Harder! Need it now!_

The burning stretch was minimal thanks to Dean’s careful attention before. Sam had marveled at the fact that the other man had taken the time to do that for him. 

It was not something that surfaced often, his fear. It was something he’d tried to push down deep. The idea of sex didn’t bother him, per se. He was a red-blooded male who had a perfectly healthy sex drive after all. He was very much on board with sex. He was **PRO** -sex. That was not the issue. When it came to actually being in the moment, he found that he tended to be a bit on edge. It was why he’d insisted on topping with the last couple of guys he’d been with. 

In truth he was a little surprised by himself when he’d begged Dean to fuck him a few nights before. He’d been tipsy but not nearly enough so that he would have done something he didn’t want to do. It just seemed so natural a dynamic between them. Dean was very…alpha. He was a man’s man. He radiated self-confidence and raw sex appeal and, just like half the population of the school, Sam was drawn to it like a magnet. 

Sam whined and tried to roll his own hips up to meet Dean’s slow shallow thrusts but it didn’t give him what he wanted. He’d had enough and finally urged Dean on with a loud “move, dammit!” 

It seemed that Dean did not have to be told twice. Likely, his own patience to get to the best stuff was running thin. He pulled out a few inches and with a single deep snap of his hips, he was fully seated in Sam’s ass. 

“Ah! Y-yeah!” Sam cried out, head lolling back, seeing stars in the overwhelming ecstasy. 

“Ahh…” Dean choked out before going perfectly still. Movement halted. Breath suspended. 

Sam cracked an eye open and found Dean tense and beginning to pant, head turned to one side, one hand on the bed beside Sam’s head and the other wrapped around the base of his cock. 

“What…?” Sam’s first thought was that something was wrong. His second thought was that Dean had cum. 

And then he heard the words Dean was muttering under his breath. 

“Arachne, Buruburu, …Ch-Changling, Djinn, …” 

Before Sam could say anything about it, Dean swallowed and turned his focus back to Sam and he was back with him once more. 

He began to shift and pound into Sam in earnest, one hand gripping tightly to the front of Sam’s leg and using it as leverage. Pulling Sam back to him even as he slammed forward. 

Within minutes Sam was stroking himself like a madman, knowing they were both so very close. He felt the familiar fiery tingle run up his legs and back and he clenched his ass as he exploded, streaking them both. 

Dean followed only a few seconds later. His movements became stilted and he pushed into Sam one, two, three more times before freezing then collapsing down onto him. Both of them breathed a little heavier in recovery mode and Sam rubbed Dean’s back soothingly. 

Finally Dean came back to his senses and he pulled out of Sam gently before rolling off to the side. 

“Well…that was…fucking phenomenal.” Dean said this with absolute awe in his voice. Enough so that Sam had to turn his head to see if he’d pegged the emotion correctly. And he had. 

“That it was,” he agreed, unable to wipe the stupid smile off of his face. He suddenly felt lighter and happier than he had in… “Hey!” A thought occurred to him. 

Dean turned his head so that they were lying there staring at one another side by side. 

“Were you…? Did I imagine you…? Were you alphabetizing monsters?” 

Dean’s face went a bit pink and he snickered even as he put the heel of his hands to his eyes. It was a clear indicator of embarrassment and Sam thought it was almost the cutest thing he’d ever seen. “Yeah,” Dean said, his hands still over his eyes. “It’s how I keep myself from cuming.” 

Laughter bubbled out of Sam, loud and strong. “Seriously? That’s hilarious!” 

Dean turned his head back towards Sam and made a face. “Way to crush my ego, Campbell.” 

“Aww,” Sam rolled over to his side and threw a leg over Dean’s hips, a hand coming up to rub over the other man’s chest. “Didn’t mean to.” He leaned in to place a quick kiss on Dean’s lips. At least it meant to be quick. 

Before they knew it, they were once more a tangle of limbs and their mouths were fused together. 

“You good for a second round? Maybe I can help with that whole ego problem?” Sam grinned and squeezed Dean’s ass. 

Before Dean could answer the question, there was a knock on the door. 

“Hey, if you two are done in there, there’s a delivery guy that needs to be paid out here.” 

Sam’s eyes widened almost painfully as he realized his whole barrage of noises and cries must have been heard by Dean’s friend. He’d never even considered that. He’d been pretty busy trying not to forget to breathe. 

Dean, who didn’t seem phased by Garth’s sudden presence it in the least, knocked his head gently against Sam’s as he groaned lightly. He looked disappointed to be sure. “Looks like round two is called on account of pizza.” 

Sam’s stomach growled as if in response to the word and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright. I can wait. We have all night.”


	12. On a Dime

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

After a quick wipe down with the towel Sam had abandoned on the floor, Dean slid his pants on, grabbed his wallet, and walked out to pay the delivery guy while Sam slipped into the bathroom to do his own clean up. 

When he made it into the living room, he found Garth standing in the doorway chatting animatedly with the poor shell-shocked pizza man. Pizza boy was likely more apt as the kid couldn’t have been over seventeen. Dean couldn’t be sure if it was the soundtrack of his and Sam’s first time that had put the look of wide-eyed discomfort on the boy’s face or if it was the fact that Garth had him cornered and was discussing the finer points of how to disarm someone if anyone should ever attempt to rob him. 

If he was reading Garth’s body language correctly, he was mere seconds away from physically demonstrating what he was talking about. 

Dean couldn’t imagine how they’d gotten on the topic in the first place, but sometimes with Garth conversations just took on a life of their own. 

“How much do I owe you, man?” Dean asked sidling up to the door. 

The guy looked up at him with undisguised relief in his eyes and Dean gave him an understanding and slightly apologetic smile. 

Once he’d paid for the food with a generous tip on top, (And why not? He was certainly _feeling_ generous.) he walked with the two large flat boxes into the kitchen, his roommate hot on his heels. 

“Want some pizza?” Dean asked as he busied himself with grabbing plates and napkins out of the cabinet. “I got extra.” 

Garth stayed put in the doorway, not saying a word. 

It was this that finally alerted Dean to the fact that something was actually off. A quiet Garth was such a rare occurrence that Dean was sure National Geographic should be there filming at that moment for posterity and possible further study. 

The silence was so prominent in the room that it began to feel like a third person and this prompted Dean to finally look more closely at his friend. And what he saw was a look of worry marring the usually carefree expression. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like it at all. He’d seen this look on Garth’s face maybe a handful of times in the twenty or so years he’d known him and it was not a look to be taken lightly. 

He immediately tossed the plates on the counter and turned his full attention on the man before him. 

“Alright. What’s up?” 

He stared at Dean, chewed at his thumbnail and sighed heavily as though he was afraid to say anything. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Gordon said you switched shifts with him when he came in to relieve me. Said you wanted the night off.” 

“Yeah? So?” He didn’t see the issue. Couldn’t he take the night off occasionally without it being a national disaster? He was the boss, after all. 

“It’s just that you haven’t taken a day off in…well, ever.” 

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Everything’s fine.” 

The understatement felt heavy on his tongue. He wanted to shout and do a little dance in the middle of the kitchen. For the first time in a long time he felt pretty fan-fucking-tastic and it was all due to the man down the hall. But the air in the room felt thick. Garth’s worry was radiating off of him in waves and Dean had a feeling that an impromptu kitchen waltz would not be appreciated. 

“So…is there anything I should be…aware of?” 

Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion. He was starting to wonder the same thing. 

And then it finally occurred to him what this might really be about. 

“Look, Garth, if this is about last night… You know you can’t bring them here.” He said the words a bit more gently than what the rant had sounded like in his head after he’d ordered him to get the girl out. He just didn’t want his friend to look any more stricken than he already did. 

“It’s not about last night. But, yeah. I know that. I’m really… _really_ sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise you!” Garth said vehemently, his hands going up in a mollifying gesture. 

“Well if it’s not about that…” He shook his head, bewildered. 

“The new guy. Reagan’s friend.” Garth tilted his head towards the bathroom, where Dean could still make out the faint sound of water running. 

“What about him?” 

“What is he _doing_ here?” 

He smirked then and sniffed. Now they were back on semi-solid ground. “Well unless you’re suddenly deaf, I’d say you know _exactly_ what he’s doin’ here.” 

“I’m not joking Dean. You don’t bring people here. You’ve never let anyone past that door except me. And Ellen. So why’s he here?” 

“He’s here because I want him to be, Garth. Look, I was working a hunt and-,” 

“I knew it!” 

Dean startled at the exclamation. “Knew what?” 

Garth’s voice dropped to a whisper as he gripped Dean’s arms, obviously a bit more genuinely upset than Dean had originally thought. “Just… Dean, please tell me this isn’t about Jo.” 

Dean frowned “Jo?” 

“Tell me you aren’t-“ 

“Tell you I’m not _what_?” he snapped, snatching his arms out of Garth’s grasp and going from curious to furious in the span of three seconds. “Are you high or something?” 

He realized his voice was raised and he didn’t really care to explain that to his guest so he took a deep breath. 

Then another. 

Then counted to ten, just like Ellen had taught him so many years ago when his anger would spiral out of control in a toxic combination of teenage angst and abandonment issues. 

There was no reason to get bent out of shape. He tried to put things in perspective. See things for what they were and not just what her perceived them to be. Garth was his friend. His family. Garth wasn’t busting his balls; He was upset. 

“Okay, Garth. I get that you’re worried. I can… I appreciate that you care enough to worry about me. But,” he sighed, “this has nothing to do with _that_.” 

The sad truth was that this thing with Sam, whatever it proved to be, was the first thing in a very long time that wasn’t built with some sort of premeditation on his part. He hadn’t even thought about how it might affect things with Dallas or his fraternity as a whole, but he would figure it out. 

Somehow, if Sam was up for it, he would figure out how to make it work while still carrying out his own plans. 

The idea that Sam was already that far under his skin didn’t freak him out nearly as much as it probably should have or even would have a week or so ago. 

“Then…what…” Garth sputtered and shook his head. 

They both turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

“Sorry,” Sam started, suddenly filling the doorway to the kitchen with well over six feet of sizzling hot half-naked goodness. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I just…need to borrow some clothes?” He gestured to the thin blue cotton towel that was, once again, his only means of cover. 

Dean’s eyes traveled down appreciatively. “I don’t know. I think I’m really starting to like this look on you.” 

Garth just continued to stare at Sam seeming totally unaffected by his lack of dress. 

Sam blushed and glared at Dean but there was no ire behind the look. 

“Oh alright. Fine. Take away all of my fun, why don’t ya.” 

It was taking a great deal of restraint on his part not to cross over to Sam and touch the vast amount of exposed skin. To not rush forward and pin him to the nearest wall and lick the spattering of water droplets that had been missed on his shoulders. 

He ran his tongue across his lips and swallowed convulsively. “Shorts. Bottom left drawer in the chest next to the closet.” 

With a quick thanks, Sam turned and retreated back to Dean’s room. 

“So…if he’s not part of your grand plan…” Garth lit back into the conversation, not even missing a beat. “Who is he?” 

Dean blinked rapidly, forcing himself not to follow Sam. 

“He’s…just a guy. That I like,” he finally responded. He wasn’t sure why he chose not to share the fact that Sam was a hunter ( _“ex hunter”_ ). Maybe it was that he didn’t want his friend second-guessing his reasoning for being with Sam. And he would, if he knew. It would only feed Garth’s theory that Sam was going to be part of the plan to take down Jo’s killer. “Why does it have to be more than that?” 

Garth looked at him long and hard and eventually visibly relaxed. He actually looked slightly contrite, which made Dean feel bad for not giving him the whole truth. Not bad enough to actually tell him, but still... 

“You like him? Like,… _like_ like him?” 

Dean glanced at the door to make sure Sam was still elsewhere before he finally allowed himself to say it. “Yeah. I _like_ like him.” He rolled his eyes feeling a little ridiculous and very much like a teenager confessing a secret crush. 

“Well… dang it!” 

Dean arched a questioning eyebrow at him. 

Garth chuckled and slapped his hand against his denim-covered leg. “It’s just that I bet El you’d end up goin’ for a girl when it came down to it.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Making bets about my love life? Don’t you two have anything better to do?” 

“To be fair we figured it would be years before that one was settled.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he deadpanned. 

“You betcha! Hey,” he said after a beat. “Sorry. About before.” 

Dean shook his head and slapped a hand against Garth’s back just hard enough that his lean form stumbled forward just a tiny bit. “Like I said, I appreciate that you care enough to worry.” 

Garth gave him one of his big goofy grins and pulled him in for an inevitable hug. “Always worry, Dean. It’s what I do. You’re my brother.” 

Dean found himself returning the hug, his mind rewinding back to the days when Garth had been the one to comfort him each time John had called, telling him once more that he wasn’t quite ready for Dean to join him. He’d always battled back his tears but had allowed Garth to hug him. Garth had always listened to him. Had always been there for him. Had tried to understand even when Dean couldn’t find the words. 

It had always been them. Them against the world. Dean and Garth… and Jo. 

“And you’re mine,” Dean returned, his voice a little strained with a sudden onslaught of emotion. 

“So,” Garth started, releasing Dean and holding him at arm’s length. “Do I need to make myself scarce so you two can...,” he wiggled his eyebrows giving Dean a grin that fell just short of lecherous, “make some more noise?” 

Dean snorted. “How about we stop talking about this and eat before it gets cold,” he opened up the top box of pizza, the delicious aroma of garlic and cheese filling the air. 

“Can I at least give him the big-brother speech about hurting him if he hurts you?” 

In answer to Garth’s question, Dean shoved a folded slice of pizza in the other man’s mouth. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

“I want that last hour of my life back. Where do I write for a refund?” 

“Amen!” Garth piped up from where he was sprawled out on the floor in front of the sofa. He held his hand up so Sam could slap it, though he wasn’t sure it was exactly a high-five worthy moment. He was slowly getting used to Dean’s friend as the night wore on and he found that, although completely quirky, he was a pretty down to earth guy with a good head on his shoulders. And a good heart, if the sniffles he’d heard from his direction during the dreaded ASPCA commercials were anything to go on. 

“I don’t know what you two are blathering on about. That was a classic.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sam snorted. “Did they change the definition of ‘classic’ and I didn’t get the memo?” 

Garth used the remote to bring up the title description, rereading it under his breath. “So…this isn’t a sequel to Troll?” 

“No. It’s just named Troll 2 because… well just because,” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Dude. Seriously. Hands down the _worst_ movie I’ve ever seen.” 

“That’s the point,” Dean explained, turning to sit facing Sam on the couch. “It’s so horrendous that it’s borderline awesome.” 

Sam looked at Garth who looked back at him, both of them looking at one another skeptically. Finally Garth shook his head. “Sam, how about you pick out the next one. I think Dean here lost his movie pickin’ privileges for the next week or so.” 

Sam laughed and stuck his tongue out at Dean, who grabbed the throw pillow behind his back and smacked Sam in the chest with it halfheartedly. He stood, picking up their paper plates to take them to the trash. “Who says Sam’s taste is going to be any better?” he called over his shoulder. 

“Hey, I’m still here with _you_ aren’t I?” Sam had meant the words to be a joke. He had planned to flutter his eyelashes at the man and then ask if he would bring him a bottle of water so he didn’t have to get up. His mouth hadn’t been clued into that apparently as the words came out with a tad more sincerity and depth than he meant for them to. He felt his cheeks go warm. He couldn’t even find it in himself to play it off with a snarky ‘that proves I shouldn’t pick’. The words just hung out there all…sickeningly sweet. 

Dean smiled in amusement as if he could read Sam’s mind. It was a real smile that reached his eyes and lit them up from inside. It made Sam’s stomach drop a little like he was on a roller coaster and he had to look away to keep from saying something stupid. 

Well, something _else_ stupid. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean agreed a moment later. “Sam obviously has amazing taste. He should pick,” he insisted dropping down beside Sam and holding a bottle of water out for him. “Thought you might be thirsty. Noticed you finished off your last one.” 

Sam was a little shocked by the thoughtful gesture. Again, _this_ Dean… The man that seemed to exist in this place was doing a number on him. He took the water, letting his fingers brush and linger over Dean’s obviously far longer than could ever be thought of as casual. “Thank you.” 

“So what do ya say, Sam? TV? Movie?” 

Sam glanced over at Garth and shrugged. “Maybe just something short? I have an early class so…I should probably head to bed soon. You choose.” 

“Excellent! I think _Walker_ is on.” 

“Oh Hell no! No!” Dean sat up straight, waving his arms stiffly. “You are so gonna be finding another place to live if I have to sit through five seconds of that crap!” 

“What? What is it?” Sam asked, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. Laughter that had been stirred up by Garth’s own hearty chuckles. It seemed like an inside joke and he found himself wanting to be on the inside. 

Dean’s friend hung his head, his shoulders shaking with pervasive silent giggles. “De-,” he snorted as he tried to talk, which only made his laughter grow stronger. He was getting to the point where he was getting red in the face and Sam was afraid he was going to stop breathing. 

Dean sighed. “I’m gonna have to tell him now. Thanks a lot, asswipe.” 

“Tell me what?” Now he _had_ to know. 

“When I was twelve… I toldeveryoneChuckNorriswasmydad.” 

The words were mumbled and jumbled and Sam had only made out about a third of the sentence. He frowned and shook his head. 

Dean sighed again, heavily. “When I was twelve, I told everyone at school that my dad was Walker from _Walker, Texas Ranger_.” 

“He even wore a cowboy hat…” _laugh_ , “…and boots for,” _snort_ , “…six months straight!” Garth managed to squeeze out. 

Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing. Or even smiling. It didn’t last long. A small chuckle worked its way past his defenses and Dean nodded, rolling his hand in a ‘go ahead, get it out of your system’ gesture. 

“Why?” he asked, having to raise his voice a little over Garth’s renewed guffaws. 

The man shrugged, a tinge of pink soaking up the light freckling that ran over the bridge of his nose. “He seemed cool I guess. Fighting the bad guys and righting wrongs. Plus I was mad at my own dad. Couldn’t tell everyone he dumped me and bailed. Couldn’t tell anyone what he did for a living. Wanted to feel normal I guess.” 

Garth’s laughter died down relatively quickly at the words as had Sam’s. The other man frowned actually, staring at Dean hard. “You… Why didn’t you ever say that’s why? I didn’t know that.” 

Dean shrugged. “Just… Didn’t like admitting it.” 

“Well. That’s not funny at all,” Garth stated shakily, sobering up from his laughing fit. 

“No. It’s funny. It is.” Dean gave his roommate a half smile. “Not as funny as when I decided to grow my hair long because I wanted to look like the dude from Braveheart, though.” 

That did it. Garth’s laughter was set off once more in the memory of Dean with a shoulder-length mullet. 

Sam grinned and watched Dean watching Garth and snickered quietly along with him. He’d turned the conversation away from the serious issue, not wanting his friend to dwell on the emotional scars of a much younger Dean. Sam saw it for what it was. It was deflection just as much as it was easing his friend’s worry. But all the same, it seemed done with good intentions. 

He reached over and grabbed Dean’s hand, watching as Dean turned his hand over and threaded Sam’s fingers with his own. 

A sweet little wave of warmth rushed through him and his eyes rose to meet Dean’s, both of them having a conversation that neither of them really understood or could have translated into words. 

After all the laughter had settled they sat back and watched mindless reruns of some show Sam had never actually seen, not having been exposed to a whole lot of television growing up. An hour later, he felt a tug on his hand as Dean stood and pulled him up as well. He led him from the room and Sam tossed a quick “goodnight” over his shoulder to Garth, who just smiled broadly and waved in return. 

Sam had been fully expecting to be mauled as soon as they crossed the threshold. Dean had asked him to stay the night, after all, and they had both been good and ready for a second round earlier. So it just stood to reason that they would pick up right where they left off. 

Only, Dean didn’t seem to have the same idea. He yawned a little and slid under the sheets before throwing back the covers on the other side and patting the mattress beside him. 

Sam yawned, set off by Dean’s and slid in as requested, suddenly feeling tired in a way that didn’t necessarily make sense as the most strenuous thing he’d done that day was have sex. 

Perhaps it was the fitful sleep he’d had the night before. The hunt had left him wired and when he’d come down from it, the crash was hard. Harder than usual. Which was odd since it was such a simple salt and burn. But then he’d been out of practice for a little while and even the habit of a lifetime, namely letting things roll right off your back, not to mention your conscious, had to be relearned. 

Not that he expected to need to relearn anything. No. The ghost was a one-time thing. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Dean mumbled into the semi-darkness. 

“Need earplugs?” 

He sniffed. “What are you stewing on?” 

For a second Sam weighed talking to Dean about it, about what they’d done, about what he couldn’t do again and why, but he didn’t want to ruin what had been such a nice day. “Just thinking about earlier. And…if there was going to be an … _encore_?” 

“Hmmm,” Dean sighed. “I think that can be arranged.” He rolled until his upper body was half on top of Sam and then he was attacking Sam’s mouth with frenzied mint-flavored kisses. 

Sam laughed between the playful pecks and when they began to slow, to deepen, Sam returned these kisses fervently. 

Before they knew it, the comforter was on the floor, the sheets pushed down and Sam was naked and sitting astride Dean’s legs, moving his hips so that their cocks rubbed together in the most delectable way. 

He was still stretched from before, so he made quick work of applying lube to himself as Dean rolled a condom down his own length, their gaze never breaking in the scant light streaming in from the window. Sam leaned forward and reached around, guiding the tip of Dean’s swollen cock to his eagerly awaiting hole. With one smooth move he sank back and down and a duet of deep heady moans filled the room. 

“Daaaammit, Sam. Still so tight.” Dean panted, gripping Sam’s hips firmly. 

Sam smiled as his teeth scraped across his bottom lip, enjoying the slight burn and the feeling of absolute fullness. He wanted so badly to move but Dean was holding him still, likely afraid to hurt him or else he didn’t want it to go too fast. Either way it was driving Sam crazy. Finally unable to stand it any more, he rocked his hips, grinding down drawing a guttural cry from Dean’s lips and a gasp from his own. The fingers on his hips tightened if that was at all possible and Sam knew there would be marks left behind. That thought thrilled him in a way he couldn’t quite name. 

Dean had apparently reached his breaking point and pushed Sam up a bit before arching his own hips and slamming up into him roughly. 

Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth opened but no sound came forth. For a moment, his vision might have even gone white, he couldn’t be sure. It was several minutes of the brutal pace before he gathered his wits about him and came back to the present. 

He was on top and would be damned if he let Dean maintain control when he was in this most absolute perfect spot. Bearing all of his weight down, he halted the movement and leaned forward for a rough and dirty kiss. He was gone again before Dean could really respond and he leaned back, hands placed on Dean’s knees behind him, and raised himself up before slamming back down. He rode Dean hard, each movement angled perfectly to hit that little bundle of nerves that finally loosened his tongue and had him crying out loudly in a rhythmic song that matched each collision of bodies. 

Quickly, much too quickly, he was whimpering and his steady rhythm faltered. He was getting close and from Dean’s arched neck and hard grimace he could tell that the other man was as well. Sam grabbed the other man’s neck and pulled Dean until he got the drift and sat up, forearms and hands going behind him to span the length of Sam’s back, fingers curling over his shoulders. 

Sam wrapped his own arms around Dean’s neck and kissed him hotly, still riding him as much as their embrace would allow. Right up until he came, hotly wetting both of their chests and bellies, adding a slip-slide where once there was friction. The new sensation coupled with Sam’s hole clamping down on Dean’s cock, threw Dean over the edge and in the throes of his own climax, his teeth sank hard into the fleshy part of Sam’s shoulder. 

It would have hurt if Sam hadn’t been in his own blissed-out state. Instead of hurting, it actually made his dick jump where it was pressed between their bodies and the two men laughed softly through their winded breaths. 

Dean used a t-shirt to wipe them both down and afterwards they readjusted the covers, sinking back down into bed once more. Dean wiggled until he got into just the right spot and once this was done, he put his forearm at the top of Sam’s head. Reading this as an invitation, Sam rolled over and slotted himself into the other man’s side, head on his shoulder. He sighed a little in relief as Dean’s arm wrapped around him, confirming he’d read the signal correctly. 

It had been an amazing day. Most certainly not the day he thought he would have when he went to bed – the first time – the night before. 

It was true; Life could turn on a dime in the span of a day. 

Sam just didn’t know what the next day might bring. He knew classes would resume. Knew he had to wake up early to get to his eight o’clock lecture. Dean had already set his alarm for seven, just enough time to get Sam up and dressed and over to his dorm for his books. But beyond those things… 

He didn’t want to push. Didn’t want to be ‘ _that guy_ ’. But he also didn’t want it blowing up in his face if he said or did something stupid, thinking any of this meant anything more than a little unexpected fun. 

“You’re still thinking,” Dean pointed out. “Thought for sure we’d managed to fuck that out of you.” 

Sam chuckled and leaned his face into Dean’s chest, inadvertently breathing in the mixed scent of the man’s Old Spice deodorant, warm skin, and Sam’s own spunk. It was a weird combination but it made him smile. 

“Sorry,” Sam whispered. 

“So?” 

“So what?” 

“So, what are you thinking about? And it better not be about the Lit project we said we’d work on today.” 

“Shit!” Sam swore. “Well no that wasn’t it but _now_ it is.” 

“Ah, c’mon. We have plenty of time. Besides, Mason loves you.” 

“She does not! Not after we walked in ten minutes late last class.” 

Dean snorted. “Not to mention the fact that you walked in behind _me_ , stud extraordinaire, with your face flamin’ purple! I swear, you might as well have been wearing a sign that said ‘I just made out in the bathroom’.” 

Sam laughed but the words only served to strengthen what he already feared. As it tended to happen, before he could even allow himself to wonder if he should say anything, he was saying something. 

“So…stud extraordinaire?” 

“Yeah, I don’t actually call myself that. Because… ya know, that would be a tad douchy.” 

“Um, yes it would. But it isn’t far off base, right?” 

Sam felt Dean slightly stiffen beneath him. “I guess,” was his answer, the last word drawn out as if he was putting off hearing what might be coming next. 

“Craig warned me not to expect…” 

Dean waited patiently for Sam to finish but he didn’t know how to phrase it. Not without sounding like he wanted something more. Already he felt stupid for not listening to Craig in the first place and just staying away from Dean Winchester altogether. 

When it became clear that Sam wasn’t going to say any more Dean rolled onto his side, the streetlamp just outside casting an eerie glow across his features. He used the hand not wrapped around Sam’s shoulders to grasp his chin and forced Sam to look directly at him. 

Sam swallowed hard and accepted a relatively chaste kiss, just the simple brush of lips. 

“Craig warned you against me. And yet here you are,” Dean breathed against his mouth. 

Sam nodded mutely. 

“Are you… Do you regret being here?” 

Sam found his voice quickly with a firm and slightly too loud “No!” He cleared his throat and adjusted his voice to a normal level. “Of course not.” 

Dean pulled back and looked hard at Sam, pupils wide in the dim light making the green almost fade behind the black. “Sammy… are you wondering what’s gonna happen now? Between us?” 

The question was a simple one. Dean’s tone wasn’t mocking in any way. It was merely a straightforward inquiry into Sam’s thoughts. And yet Sam found himself feeling silly. Silly for thinking anything could come of this. Silly for even bringing it up. Silly for being just another statistic. Another notch one a belt. 

Come tomorrow, he would be just like the clueless hoards that thought Dean was actually going to call them. Just another person thinking that they’d surely be the one to change the zebra’s stripes. 

Dean sighed. “Stop.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Stop whatever torture you’re putting yourself thru in that head of yours.” 

He smiled despite himself. “How do you know I’m torturing myself? Maybe I’m just thinking about what I’m going to write about you on the bathroom stall.” 

Dean made a sound that was part hum and part huff. “You think you’re so hard to read but you really aren’t. Not for anyone paying attention. You use humor to deflect when things hit too close to home. It’s okay. Not my place to psychoanalyze you. Just want you to know that… well there really isn’t a reason for you to play your hand quite so close to your chest.” 

Dean lay back once more, still embracing Sam with one arm and Sam sighed, his hand sliding over Dean’s stomach and remaining there as he gently stroked the skin above the man’s navel. It was an intimate gesture and he wasn’t sure what made him do it but he continued as no move was made to stop him. 

After several minutes, in which time Dean easily could have drifted off, Sam finally whispered, “What _is_ going to happen tomorrow?” 

Dean’s hand moved along Sam’s back in a soothing manner, answering the question of whether or not he was asleep. 

“Gonna drag my ass out of bed at an ungodly hour. Gonna drive _your_ ass to the dorm for your stuff. Gonna drop you off right in front of whatever building your first class is in. And before you get out of the car, I’m gonna kiss the hell out of you and hope it’s enough to get you to come back for more. Because Sam…” He squeezed him just a bit within the one-armed embrace, “I _promise_ , if I have my way, there _will_ be more.” 

Sam lay there a little too stunned to speak and after a few minutes Dean’s breathing evened out indicating he’d finally given in to his fatigue. 

He mulled the words over and over and, while there were still plenty of questions, he liked Dean’s answer. If he were to play the fool, at least he would do so with a smile on his face a bit longer.


	13. Miss Me?

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

Dean was true to his word. He made sure Sam was up and they were out the door with more than enough time to get him to his first class. 

At the dorm, he’d gone upstairs with Sam, despite Sam telling him he only needed a few minutes to change and grab his books. His motives had quickly become apparent as soon as the elevator doors had glided to a close and Sam had found himself backed against the wall, strong hands groping his ass and Dean’s mouth slowly working over his own for the entire ride up to his floor. 

It was nice. Better than nice. It was new and beyond anything he’d ever really had before, this easy playfulness, and it never seemed awkward. With Dean it all just felt… _right_. 

Dean had watched him openly without a trace of shame as he stripped quickly and then did a reverse strip tease, putting on each item of clothing with slow purpose. The green eyes that tracked each movement seemed to enjoy what he saw and it took a whole lot of self restraint to keep himself from tearing the clothing right back off again afterwards. 

In the end, the only thing that kept them from throwing in the towel and giving in to their baser desires was the fact that Nathan was less than ten feet away, snoring loudly with his face turned towards them as he drooled into his pillow. 

Instead of waiting an extra few minutes for the elevator, they took the stairs back down. When they reached the landing below where Sam had found Dean laying unconscious only… _shit!_ – two days before, they glanced at one another surreptitiously out of the corner of their eyes. Without Sam really knowing how it happened, their hands were suddenly joined together, fingers linked loosely. 

Dean only let go of his hand when they split to slide into their respective sides of the car and even then, the other man took a moment to bend Sam playfully backwards over the trunk of the car for another thorough kiss, Sam laughing all the while. 

The sleek black Impala’s engine growled loudly as they sped down the apartment-lined streets that skirted the campus and Sam turned to watch Dean as he drove. He was so careful, so precise in his maneuvering of the car through the early university traffic. He’d cut the wheel just so, he’d slow down and not push through the yellow lights even if there was plenty of time, and he kept an eagle eye on the traffic around him. It was almost too cautious. But then when the light turned green, Dean would let go, foot heavy, pedal to the metal, tires screeching just a bit as they sped onward with the other cars left in the dust. 

Sam had never been much of a car person. He knew most makes and models at a glance and knew which of those were the easiest to steal. Knew how to hot-wire. Knew how to do any basic repairs needed to keep a car on the road. But he’d never really taken the time to sit back and admire them as works of art in and of themselves. Cars had been tools and the less conspicuous the car, the better. 

Dean’s car was anything _but_ conspicuous. Though the man seemed to insist on personifying the automobile as a female, even going so far as to refer to ‘her’ as ‘Baby’ as he stroked the wheel with reverence, the rolling power and general essence of testosterone that surrounded the heavy American made steel, had Sam thinking that ‘Sexy’ would be a much more appropriate moniker. 

From the soft custom leather seats that reminded Sam of an old worn in leather jacket, to the roar of the fully-loaded engine and the commingling scents of gasoline and Dean’s cologne which seemed embedded in the interior, Sam felt about three seconds from jumping on top of Dean at any point during the drive. Even now the car rumbled around them so that Sam felt the vibration clear to his core, igniting that spark of desire that he knew he didn’t have time to let catch. But, oh yes, the Impala was sex on four tires and with memories of the last few days still clinging to his mind like a tenacious spider web Sam couldn’t picture Dean driving anything else. 

As they pulled up in front of the sciences building, Sam grabbed the strap of his bag with one hand as he opened the door with the other. He peered over his shoulder, poised to get out. “Thanks for the lift.” 

“Hang on a second there, Speedy.” Dean’s fingers wrapped around the wrist of the hand holding the bag and smoothly jerked him back into the car. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

Sam pretended not to understand what he was talking about. “Am I?” He went through the motions of patting his pockets and looking around him in the car before shaking his head and cutting a wide-eyed innocent look at the man behind the wheel. 

Dean arched a brow at him and it was obvious that he didn’t buy the act for a second, not that Sam thought he would. “Oh, I think I told you _exactly_ what was going to happen here.” 

“Uh-huh. Talk is cheap, Winchester,” Sam retorted, with far more boldness than he necessarily felt at that very moment. In fact, he was surprised he could form words at all much less summon sass, since his stomach had currently relocated to his knees under Dean’s intense gaze. 

Dean’s smile turned mischievous with a look of ‘oh yeah?’ and Sam had no doubt that he would rise to that challenge no matter what. The foreplay was just part of the fun. 

Strong fingers clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him in the way a bully pulls someone close in order to intimidate and threaten. Only this was no threat; it was a promise kept. A satisfied smirk was on both of their faces when their lips were finally slid together, slippery and warm and with a building pressure that had Sam moaning softly into the kiss. 

After Dean had mapped out his mouth several times over and teeth began to come into play, nipping at his bottom lip, Sam finally found the strength deep inside himself to ease back out of Dean’s immediate vicinity, pushing gently against his shoulder to do so. He let out a heavy sigh and laughed, feeling a little breathless and light headed like he’d just sucked the helium out of a balloon - without the whole chipmunk voice effect, of course. His jeans had also gone noticeably tight. 

“Know what I think?” Dean asked, his head falling back onto the seat’s headrest but turning to face Sam. 

“What’s that?” Sam breathed, taking in the picture of Dean in early morning light, his eyelids heavy and his lips glistening and near wine-stained red in the aftermath of the kiss. He took a mental snapshot, knowing the image would surely be one he’d want to recall later. 

“Think we’re both gonna be thinkin’ about _that_ … _all_ day.” 

In a move that he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of, Sam took Dean’s hand in his and placed it over the strong semi that was beginning to push adamantly at the fly of his jeans. “Don’t think I have much choice.” 

Dean groaned and shifted to adjust his own jeans. “You sure you really need to do the whole class thing today?” 

He shot him a mock-glare but on the inside he was screaming _‘why are we talking? Why are we not already having sex?’_. 

But that wasn’t exactly responsible and he had a GPA to uphold if he didn’t want his scholarship and financial aid yanked out from under him. “Yes,” he finally made himself spit out. “Otherwise you got up at the ‘ass crack of dawn’, as you so eloquently put it, for nothing. Speaking of class, I should probably go before I’m late.” 

Dean’s rolled his eyes and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Fine. Go forth. Be brilliant. What class is it again?” he asked, glancing over Sam’s shoulder to the two-story brick monolith that was the primary Sciences building, nose scrunching up cutely as he squinted through the morning sun. 

“Organic Chemistry.” 

“Oh yeah?” Dean clicked his tongue, a suggestive brow raised partly in jest. “You know, I had Professor Kendall…two years ago? Yeah, two years ago for that.” 

Sam thought about what Dean said about not playing his cards so close to his chest. The idea of the likelihood that this would be it between them, that Dean would have a new conquest by lunch, was still there in his head. 

Out of sight out of mind, after all. 

“Oh really? How’d you do?” 

Dean looked at him as though his words had offended him. “You wound me deeply, Campbell. How do you think I did?” 

Well if he was going to start buying into tired clichés, then nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

“Alright. Fine, Mr. O-Chem… I have the first exam coming up soon. Willing to put some of that hard-earned knowledge to use and help me study later? For…Chemistry?” 

Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and turned his head abruptly to look out of the driver’s side window, as though looking at Sam might just make his head explode. When his gaze returned he saw undisguised bemusement on his face and eyes sparkling with promise of what he thought that request might just entail. “Yeah,” he finally answered. “I work the bar tonight but… tomorrow night? My shift’ll be over around eight. Then I can help you… _study_.” 

Sam nodded mutely, eyes tracing paths between Dean’s eyes and mouth. It was as though he couldn’t even help himself. “Tomorrow then.” He cleared his throat. “I have a French quiz next week too. Maybe if there’s time you can _drill_ me while we’re at it,” an innocent smile… “on the vocabulary.” …spread into a leer. 

Dean sighed again, this time not so much dramatically but the kind of sigh that says the person is getting close to their breaking point in the best possible way. “Ya know, you _can’t_ give me an opening like that before I’ve even had coffee. It just isn’t fair.” 

Sam shook his head. “Uh-huh,” Sam nodded his head and grabbed the strap of his bag again. “All … _openings_ … shall be saved until after coffee forthwith. Got it.” 

Dean snorted at that and was noticeably trying to will his face into something that resembled sterness. He shoved playfully at Sam’s shoulder. “Get out before I throw you in the back seat and see what damage I can do without any damn caffeine.” 

He didn’t hesitate this time, knowing he really did need to get inside. Sam hopped out of the car and headed towards the building with a quick backwards smile and wave. The sound of the Impala’s engine grew louder as Dean gunned it, Led Zeppelin a faint stream of sound on the wind, fading as he sped away. A part of Sam wished he were still inside of the car, pointed in the direction of the bed he’d been sleeping so comfortably in this morning, his back spooned against Dean’s chest. 

He tried to suppress his own exuberance because surely people would think he was insane with the goofy grin that he just knew must be plastered on his face, but all he could think was _Dean Winchester just dropped me off at school. And I have a quasi not-really study date with him tomorrow!_

He hoped that this didn’t continue. Each cognizant thought seemed to revolve around Dean. Of course, it didn’t help that he was still notably sore from the prior day’s activities to the point where he worried that his stiff gate might be pronounced enough to give him away. Every single step served as a reminder to him that it had all been real. It had happened. And it had been brain-shatteringly good. 

A small part of him hadn’t wanted it to end. Another part of him, namely the part that kept playing Craig’s words of warning on a loop, told him a little distance was probably not the worst thing in the world. 

Of course, that part seemed to grow more and more quiet with each passing hour and Sam thought maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world either. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

Between both of them having classes that day and Dean mentioning that he had the late shift at the bar as well, Sam had not expected to have contact with the man again until the lit class they would share the next day. So when his phone began chiming later that night, his first assumption as he unfolded himself from where he had been sitting cross-legged studying on his bed, was that Craig or Sara or one of the others might be texting to see if he wanted to meet up for dinner. 

He’d already had a text from Lilly warning him that Sara was looking to convince him to go out with them to some club that weekend. He’d thanked her profusely for the heads up. 

When he glanced at the phone, however, no familiar name flashed across the screen. Only a number and a message. His breath caught and his heart did a little stutter step. 

Dean Winchester’s number was on the display. He had Dean’s number but he hadn’t put it in his phone just yet. It was on a slip of paper he was using as a bookmark in his current Lit reading. But he knew the numbers by heart, even though he’d never admit to it even under threat of torture. 

The text simply said, **_Miss me yet?_**

Sam sniffed at this. He could almost see the cock-sure smile on the other man’s face. He gnawed at his lip and paused with his thumbs hovering over the screen only to sit back down, rolling his eyes at himself. 

He didn’t know much about relationships, even casual ones. But even he knew a little ‘hard to get’ never hurt. 

Not to mention it was still fresh in his mind that he’d sat through an agonizing hour of Chemistry that morning with a half-hard cock as a near constant distraction. He figured Dean could sweat it out for a few minutes. 

When his phone chimed again, he made himself wait another minute. One very _long_ minute. Then he picked it up to see a second text from the same number. 

He chuckled when he saw the picture that had been sent. It was obviously taken in the bar and it was of a middle-aged woman holding a clear pint glass, filled with light liquid on bottom merging into dark liquid at the top, and thick creamy foam sitting just above the rim of the glass. 

**“The Freshman” is catching on.** the caption read. 

Sam laughed again and began typing out a reply. 

**Who is this?** was all he wrote. 

This time it was a few minutes for a response to come back, chuckling giddily to himself over the witty text. After five minutes had passed, he began to regret taking joy in making Dean wait. He decided that waiting for a text to come through had to be the equivalent of Chinese water torture. 

His insides fluttered in the most pleasant way and he fumbled almost dropping the phone as the message alert caught him by surprise. 

**_the Stud Extraordinaire_**

His fingers rubbed at his chin absently as he considered his options in forming a response to this. He typed out something about remembering someone saying it would sound douchey to call themselves that but he quickly erased it and went with playful instead. Simple. 

**_Seth?_**

**_V funny_**

**_Oh! Justin! Sorry, hot stuff._**

Hot stuff? Really? His eyes rolled to the ceiling. 

**_You think you’re funny, don’t you._**

**_I’m hilarious._**

**_O yeah, Freshman. A laugh riot._**

Sam could feel the sarcasm rolling through the words on the screen and he frowned at being relegated back to “Freshman”. Before he could even decide if he wanted to be annoyed by it, the phone went off again. 

**_Sorry. Sam._**

He nodded, pleased with the relatively quick correction. 

**_How was bar duty tonight?_**

**_Still here. Slow as snail shit tho._**

**_Assuming that’s pretty slow. That bad?_**

**_Bad for business. Good for texting._**

Sam replied with a smiley face, hitting send before he could second-guess the move. 

After nearly ten minutes of silence, Sam had gotten slightly manic and had managed to convince himself that the reckless combination of the ‘ **:** ’, ‘ **-** ’, and ‘ **)** ’ had surely scared Dean off completely. 

Yep. The fastest end to a non-relationship in the history of _ever_. 

Social ineptitude strikes again. 

Death by emoticon. 

He outright dropped the phone onto the floor when the response came this time, believing so strongly that he wasn’t going to hear any more from Dean that night. “Shit!” he muttered watching helplessly as the device fell to the floor and bounced unceremoniously under his bed. It took a full minute of grasping blindly into the darkness but his fingers finally closed over the plastic and he snatched it out, staring at it as he still hung suspended upside down off of the side of the bed. 

**_Sorry. Customer wanted to bullshit before he left. What you up to?_**

Dean was working. Busy working. Of course he was. That’s what people did while working. They worked. 

**_French homework_**

Sam righted himself and settled down again in front of the material spread out over his bed. If he was sitting in front of the opened book, which was turned to the page on which his homework happened to be then it still counted as being the truth. Technically. 

He had been, in no way, sitting there staring at his phone for the last ten minutes and ignoring said homework. Nope. 

**_Oh-la-la. Sounds like a wild time_**

“Ha!” **_Yeah. Nothing like a little French verb conjugation to get the party started._**

**_Always been my motto._**

**_…nous bisons, nous bisions, nous biserons…_**

**_NO idea what that says but whatever it is just turned me on._**

**_Are you serious?_**

**_Hell yes! Customers are starting to stare. What is this sorcery?_**

Sam felt his face flush. The idea that he turned Dean on – that he had the power at all to turn Dean’s head in the first place – was still a little amazing and surprising. 

**_Seriously tho. What does that say?_**

He toyed with the idea of telling him but… **_Well you could Google it. Or…I could show you tomorrow._**

Dean’s response was almost instantaneous. 

**_2nd one!!!_**

**_Still on for tomorrow?_**

**_Couldn’t keep me away if you tried._**

After this followed a long line of texting in which they somehow managed to solve the crisis of world hunger (at least in theory), tell no less than eleven dirty jokes (that was mostly Sam as he explained this knowledge away with the excuse that he’d been around a lot of truck stops in his misspent youth), and decide on Sam’s wardrobe for the next day (complete with pictures of Sam modeling possible choices to which Dean continuously threw in comments about his looking like a young Bill Gates mixed with requests for more risqué pics. Sam responded to this with a single picture of himself flipping Dean the bird). 

A few minutes of silence had passed since the last picture, Sam using the small pauses to actually attempt studying even though they had been few and far between, his phone chimed once more. The flutters hadn’t stopped all night and Sam hummed what sounded frighteningly like a happy sigh. 

**_Gonna call it a night. Have to clean + close up before I hit the sack._**

Sam frowned as he glanced at his alarm clock and did a double take. How was it already that late? 

**_Holy shit! Did we really just text for three hours?_**

**_Looks like it._**

**_Time flies… I really enjoyed chatting with you._** he paused before sending. 

The statement was true. He couldn’t deny that. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to go down this road. Put himself out there with a guy that he knew was just going to stomp all the hell over him if he left himself open to it. Closing his eyes, he put his thumb down, letting it fall where it may and figuring if it hit ‘delete’ then it was a sign. Cracking one eye open, he noted that the text had been sent and nodded, accepting his fate. 

No text ever came in reply. No chime sounded. Only silence and the occasional sound of voices in the hall outside his door filled his ears. 

After a while, he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face, purposefully not taking his phone with him. He didn’t need to check it. He would be just fine if that was the end of their three-hour long ‘text-a-thon’. Dean was just busy doing the whole cleaning and closing thing like he said. 

He spit his toothpaste out into the sink and rinsed his mouth. 

It was all just so new to him. He’d never had a ‘text-a-thon’ before. It was really his first ‘a-thon’ of any kind. He just felt slightly out of his depth and pretty damn self-conscious about the whole thing, as silly as it seemed. It all felt almost _too_ easy. Natural. 

What really got him though was no matter how natural it came, he still felt completely out of control over the whole thing. It was like he was strapped to a rocket and suddenly hurtling through space. No idea where it was going but not sure how to stop it even if- he wanted to. 

He’d spent so many years hunting and honing his control. He knew his limits and boundaries both physically and mentally. Knew how to keep emotion out of the equation. He was concise and lethal when necessary. He’d taken down more supernatural shit over the years than even he could count. Yet somehow he, Sam Campbell, could be brought to his knees by a couple of good – who was he kidding? _fucking phenomenal!_ – rounds of sex and a bunch of rambling text messages. It didn’t jive. 

There had to be a rational explanation for it all. 

There was always the theory that Dean was a witch. Or maybe a Siren or an Incubus. 

But no, he’d already ruled those out in his continual scanning for inconsistencies that seemed to be some sort of birthright since he couldn’t remember a time when his brain hadn’t done it. 

His previous relationships, as short lived and sad as they were, had never felt like this. He’d always held the upper hand. He didn’t let himself care so it never really mattered. It was casual. But he’d also never really given over to someone like Dean before. He’d never formed attachments with hunters as they tended to be transient but there was definitely something nice about having that in common. Sharing a common thread with another person. 

He supposed it was a bit like his parents. His mother and his father had both been hunters before meeting one another. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance, or so he’d been told. They met and fell instantly in love and married within a week, both of them breaking away from hunting alongside their own families to join forces and hunt together. 

The Russells hadn’t liked it, especially since their daughter had only been sixteen at the time, but they got over it quickly enough. 

The Campbell family had more or less disowned their son who had been all of twenty and well on his way to being a better hunter than even Samuel Campbell, the patriarch of the clan, had been. They thought it would shame the Campbell name. Thought she would drag him down. For years after, they hadn’t spoken a word. It was only after Sam had been born that his grandfather had finally shown interest in mending fences. 

It had all been quite the scandal in the hunter community, his mother had once told him as the two of them had stood side by side before the ammo press, making salt rounds the way normal families might assemble sandwiches for lunch. He’d been around seventeen at that point and she had walked in on him making out with a boy earlier that afternoon; Eric, the son of the motel’s owner to be exact. He had been sure she would freak out over the fact that he’d been with a boy, but she had been more concerned about his intentions. 

“Do you like this boy?” 

“Just met him last week, ma.” 

“Seemed like you were doing a little more than saying ‘nice to meet you’.” 

He’d scoffed quietly but didn’t respond; knowing anything he said to that would be construed as backtalk. 

“Just…be careful son.” 

“What, like…condoms?” He remembered fighting off laughter even saying the word out loud to his mother. It wasn’t that it was weird. They lived in each other’s pockets and had never been the type of family to be prim about things like that. It was just the idea that she was actually thinking she had to have the conversation with him at all. He was seventeen and had free access to the Internet. He was well aware of sex and probably knew more on the topic than she did. “No,” she’d shaken her head and gave him a sidelong glance. “Careful how?” “Do you like him?” she repeated. Sam thought about it for a moment. He’d met the guy while hanging out in the tiny arcade just off of the motel’s office. They had spent a few afternoons playing video games before Eric had just grabbed him and started kissing him. He was a pretty boy. Smaller than Sam, though most guys his age were, with a slightly muscular build, silver blonde hair and a way with words to rival any Sam had ever seen. He could have sold water to a drowning man. Smitten was probably the best word for the whole situation and he told his mother this. “We did it all wrong, ya know? Your father and I,” she clarified. “Moved too fast. I know you’re young. You wanna have fun. Just don’t rush into anything. Relationships… They change you. They take over your brain driving common sense right out the window.” She’d said all of this never looking directly at him during the conversation so much as she looked through him. It was as if she’d been looking backwards into the past. Ghost images dancing before her pretty hazel eyes. 

Smitten or not, Seventeen year old Sam had only been worried about getting laid. Relationships were the farthest thing from his mind. But like most things his mother had said to him, right or wrong, he’d taken the words to heart. 

She’d punctuated the conversation by sneaking a box of condoms into his duffel the next day and they never spoke of it again. This had been the closest thing to a talk on the birds and the bees that he’d ever gotten from either of his parents. 

Considering what had happened in the weeks following that conversation, the whole damn speech seemed laughable and he wondered if that had been the turning point for him and his parents. When they realized just how useful he could be. 

Sam pushed the memories away before they could continue to resurface. 

He splashed water over his face and then leaned forward to study his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He wasn’t that person anymore. Wasn’t a hunter. Wasn’t beholden to anyone. 

The second he entered the room after getting ready for bed, he put his toiletries down on the shelf above his desk where he kept them, adjusting them to near perfect ninety degree angles. He changed into a fresh pair of sleep pants. He carefully and slowly gathered the books he would need for the next day’s classes and slid them into his bag before zipping it closed and placing it on his desk next to the door. He put his running shoes on the floor next to his bed and folded his shorts and t-shirt meticulously before laying the clothing on top of the shoes so that it would be ready for his morning jog. 

Only after each of these things was done to his satisfaction did Sam allow himself to cross to his bed and pick up his phone to check the display. 

Nothing. 

Fighting down a small wave of uncalled for disappointment, Sam put the phone on the nightstand and slid under his covers hoping sleep would be quick to come. 

A few minutes later, the key turned in the lock on his door and some odd buried part of him wondered for the smallest microsecond if Dean was there and was at that very moment picking his lock. He knew he had the skills to. The idiotic part of himself that considered this possibility provided a very stimulating scenario of Dean breaking in (having been unable to stay away) and taking him on the small but firm bed before they settled down in each other’s arms for the night. Two giants squeezed onto the twin frame, each spilling over the opposite side like wax dripping down a candle. 

Seconds had passed and finally Nathan tripped through the door, looking high as a kite and holding his backpack like a newborn baby. The momentary delusion with hacked to bits with a speed that would have qualified it for Olympic trials. 

Sam flopped back down in his bed gracelessly, pulled his pillow from behind his head and pressed it firmly down on his own face. 

Maybe this was what his mother had spoken about when she’d spoken of losing your common sense. After all, the man was busy and it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t see him in class the next day. It’s just that he… Well after being together so often over the past few days, he thought maybe he _missed_ Dean’s presence. But surely it was too soon to be thinking things like that. 

After nearly twenty minutes he finally had himself convinced that he was being ridiculous and should just let it go as there was nothing else he could do. He forced each part of his body to relax. He mentally called out each part and allowed it to relax in a sort of anatomical roll call. By the time he got to his scalp, he was begging to drift. 

Just as he slipped into that floating ethereal headspace that came just before dreaming, Sam heard his phone buzz on the nightstand. Reaching out blindly, he pulled the phone beneath his pillow with him and snuffled a sleepy “ ‘Lo?”. 

“I enjoyed it to,” was murmured in return. 

Even in his sleepy state, the sound of _that_ voice saying _those_ words had his lips curling softly into a smile that surely reflected his insides which at that moment must have resembled no more than a pile of pure spun sugar. 

“’Night Sam.” 

“G’night Dean,” his voice a whispered echo. 

When he was poised once more on the brink of sleep, he heard his mother’s voice in his head. A soft hum in the wind. A remembrance of the rest of their conversation coming back to him in a subconscious shove. 

“Relationships… They change you. They take over your brain driving common sense right out the window. But you’re smart, son. And when it’s right…you’ll _know_. And you gotta make sure you don’t let it go. No matter how little sense it all makes.” 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

Dean stared at the phone in his hand for several long minutes after he’d hung up with Sam. It sounded as though the other man was half asleep. Dean could almost see him, long eyelashes settled prettily against his cheeks, mouth ever so slightly slack and the tension of the day melted out of him just enough so that his long limbs would be stretched out to fill his small mattress. 

The wistful expression he knew he wore just thinking about that image made him glad that he was alone. 

The last thing he wanted was to have a nosey if well-intentioned friend bugging him. He could hear it now, a conversation chock full of _how are you feeling?_ , _what are you thinking about?_ and the ever present _what are you _doing_?_

Truth was, even Dean himself didn’t know the answers to those questions. 

It was very possible that starting things with Sam was a mistake. His timing certainly couldn’t have been worse. But he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to stop the urges and feelings that the other man evoked in him. 

He leaned back against the bar, which had been cleaned off and prepped for the next day, and flipped back through screen after screen of texts until he found the one he was looking for; A picture of Sam’s reflection in the mirror on the inside of his closet door. Sam was hamming it up for the camera with a dramatic head tilt, one leg behind the other and slightly bent, one hand on his hip and an exaggerated duck face plumping out his lips in the most ridiculous fashion. Even though Sam was trying to be goofy and had indeed drawn a hearty chuckle out of Dean, causing the few customers in the bar at the time to shoot him curious glances, he still looked beyond amazing. With his fitted green polo and brown slacks, the image looked as if it were lifted straight out of the catalog for one of those stores that tended to show dude’s abs more than they ever actually got around to showing the clothing they were attempting to sell. 

Of course he’d felt obliged to give him shit over his wardrobe and had promptly told him to be a rebel and put on some damn jeans and a t-shirt every now and again. 

Sam’s response was that he might as well take Dean’s advice from the first day and start wearing pajamas. 

Having seen exactly what Sam looked like in pajamas, Dean had agreed wholeheartedly with this and told Sam so. 

Dean shook his head but it did little to clear the mental image of Sam walking in to Lit class in nothing but clingy black pants, the thin cotton doing so little to hide the tight body that lay beneath. Fabric shifting as he moved up the steps towards Dean… Hard on tenting the cotton as he crawled over Dean’s lap. Dean would try to keep his hands off but the hour of anticipation would drive them both insane as Sam sat sandwiched between Dean and… 

Craig. Dallas’s frat brother. Craig would be there. Beside them. Right there. 

The thought took the wind right out of his sails. This was going to be tricky. 

He sighed and dropped his phone on the bar beside his keys so he wouldn’t forget it when he went upstairs then he went about gathering up the trash to take out back. 

The thing with Sam was new and fragile. He knew just from the hesitant way Sam approached him at times that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Dean to suddenly laugh and say ‘just kidding’. Or maybe just blow him off as he had countless others in the past. 

That was fair. It was the image he’d painted himself into and Sam’s friends had apparently done plenty to reinforce that image. But Sam didn’t know. How _could_ he know? He didn’t see the bigger picture. The picture that included Dean being a hunter, doing what hunters _do_. Doing whatever necessary to get the kill. 

It was an act. 

_Fuck and run._

It had begun in part because it kept him from getting bored, destructive. It worked out some of his demons. But it also got him into confidences that he normally wouldn’t have been privy to. Dean had learned quickly how people’s tongues loosened when they were seduced and left sated. He’d recognized it quickly for the tool it was as they opened up to him as though sprawled on a dark leather chaise, paying him by the hour to be analyzed. The fact that he’d used this method to get where he was on the case wasn’t something he would boast about but the ends justified the means. 

If he hadn’t done what he’d done, he might never have found how deep it all went. He might have been blinded by anger and focused on too small a target. 

Sam was an unexpected wrench in the works. If only it were his looks alone that drew Dean in. He could have ignored him completely and gone about his business if that was all there was to it. But no. Sam Campbell was the whole package and more. He was gorgeous, sexy, crazy smart, witty, had awesome taste and to top it off…he had been a hunter. 

That was the big fuckin’ cherry on top of a 55 gallon drum of ice cream. Because of that, he could know things about Dean’s life that so few could ever even fathom. There was something to be said for having that type of understanding with another person. 

What it came down to was that after all these years of being the anti-relationship guy, he could actually see something maybe developing with Sam. But if he pursued that… Well, he wasn’t quite sure what that would mean for him. For everything he’d worked for. 

His phone beeped to indicate a new text message. 

A very real smile lit his face and he felt his cheeks ache a little, the muscles having gotten a pretty good workout throughout the night. Throughout the last couple of days, actually. 

He tied off the trash bag at his feet and wiped his hands on the hips of his jeans before picking up his phone to see what had been sent. 

The smile faded like a wilting flower, a slow and steady death, as he saw the message on his phone. One that was decidedly _not_ the name he’d been expecting. 

**DB: _Out back._**

All extraneous thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

Dean stood there behind the bar, running his tongue over his teeth as he blanked out everything. _Everything._ Nothing could exist at this moment except him and what he knew was about to happen. 

He’d been expecting it. Hell, he wasn’t sure why it had taken so long. 

He pocketed his phone and keys then grabbed the trash bag and headed through the hall door and out the back. 

There were only four cars in the lot. His own, Garth’s, a jeep that belonged to Katie who lived two doors down above the pizza place, and a fully loaded SUV. The location of the SUV was intentional. It was parked in a space beneath the lone oak in the lot, set apart and half-hidden from the street by the large trunk of the old tree. There was a street lamp in the center of the parking lot as well but the tree cast just the right amount of shadow so that the light never actually touched it. That’s how _he_ liked it. Almost invisible at this time of night. 

Their dirty little secret. 

He tossed the bag in the trash bin near the door and walked casually towards the SUV as though he had all the time in the world and no place special to be, hands in pockets, eyes scanning his surroundings in a lazy sweep. Loose gravel crunched beneath his boots and he focused on that sound as it crackled in his ear like stereo static, letting it ground him. 

By the time he pulled the passenger door open, he’d managed to work up a passable aloofness with a carefree half smile thrown in for good measure. 

“Dallas,” he greeted, sliding up into the plush leather seat. 

“Dean,” Dallas returned, the smallest hint of white teeth flashed as he gave a sneer of a smile. It was his default, Dean thought, to affect an air of superiority towards Dean even when there was no one else around. “Been a while.” 

Dean nodded. “It has. But that’s all cleared up now…right?” He no longer felt the slight soreness that had lingered in his jaw for several days after the party, though his skin still showed the slightest evidence of the fight. 

Dallas’s hand lifted, his fingers brushing over the light bruising that still ran along the bottom of Dean’s jaw. His seemingly ever-present five o’clock shadow covered it for the most part so on the whole it wasn’t really noticed. Dean worked not to flinch at the touch, not that Dallas would have noticed or cared anyway. Dallas’s thumb moved to stroke against his bottom lip, pushing it gently open. “Miss me?” 

_**Miss me yet?**_

His first text to Sam tonight flashed through his mind and he pushed the thought away quickly. 

“Like a bad cold,” Dean deadpanned. 

Dallas’s answering laugh was soft and humorless. “Such a mouth on you. Almost forgot about that.” 

“Not sure how,” Dean smirked. “Thought that was your favorite part of me.” 

This time the chuckle that came out was real. “True.” 

“So to what do I owe the honor of your presence?” 

The look Dallas Baker gave him in reply was one that said Dean was a true blue moron if he didn’t know why the man was there. Still he arched a brow and draped his arm over the back of the passenger seat, fingers playing idly with the back of Dean’s neck. “Just thought we could catch up. Hang out. Get… _reacquainted_.” 

With his free hand he reached over and pressed a button that slid the driver’s seat back several inches. Dallas shifted down a bit in his seat and tilted his head towards Dean, an expectant look in his blue eyes. 

“What about that new girlfriend of yours?” 

Dallas unzipped his fly and pulled his dick through the folds of denim, pulling up and stroking his already half hard length for Dean to see. “Less talking.”


	14. Wake-Up Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm gonna go ahead and include a slight trigger warning here but only because some people read too deeply into the ending of Ch 13. Trust me when I say, Dean is not being coerced into anything._

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

It was not quite an hour later when Dean climbed the stairs up to his apartment, exhausted from a day that felt as though it had been stuffed with far more than twenty-four hours. 

_I’m okay._

He let himself into the apartment, ignoring the fact that Garth seemed to have turned on every light in the place (even though Dean had griped at him more than once about the habit), and bypassed the kitchen where he could hear his friend puttering around with something on the stove. 

It seemed a little late to be cooking but Garth kept some weird ass hours and who the hell cared anyway? He was an adult after all. 

Garth called out to him, voice sounding distant and muffled and he cringed at the sound. He felt raw and the familiarity of the voice along with the concern he heard in it, just made the aching rawness that much more prominent. 

Dean returned a simple “yeah,” but said no more. 

_No more talking_ , he silently begged. 

His mind was running on a single track and that track had him hanging a sharp left and closing himself in the bathroom. 

_Everything is good._

After brushing his teeth so long the American Dental Association would have given him a standing ovation, he stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. 

He turned his head left and right, observing and cataloging. Swollen lips, a few light red patches that would fade in short order, but no real lasting marks. 

He sighed feeling a modicum of relief. 

In the past when Dallas marked him, whether by accident or design, it somehow made it more real, what he was allowing himself to do. What he was doing with one of the people responsible for _her_ death, more specifically. It made it harder to shake off afterwards. Thankfully this time there was nothing that would linger for longer than another hour or so. 

_See? No problem._

“Keep tellin’ yourself that,” he spoke to the Dean on the other side of the mirror. The Dean staring back at him with cloudy eyes. 

Shedding his clothes one piece at a time, he tried to ignore the scent of spilled beer from his shift at the bar intermingling with the sharp leathery new car smell of Dallas’s brand new top of the line SUV. He flung the offensive items away leaving them in a heap next to the door to be dealt with later. 

The shower was ice cold as he stepped in but it didn’t deter him. He didn’t even bat an eyelash at the chilling sting. He just let the spray hit him and pull his brain into the here and now. Slowly the water warmed and he placed his forehead against the back wall of the shower, letting it sluice down his back in ribbons, soothing the day’s stress from his tense muscles. 

The temperature of the water rose even higher, eventually filling the room with copious amounts of steam. Comforting heat surrounded and thawed him. He took a deep breath in through his nose and felt the steam heat enter him along with the crisp clean smell of his soap. 

The bar of soap he wielded glided over his chest and arms, lathering over every inch of his skin. His movements were still slightly mechanical but thorough as though the simple white bar of soap might be able to wipe away whatever taints were left from the encounter with Dallas. 

It hadn’t been horrible. Truth was, Dallas was pretty damn hot in his own right. It had never been a hardship to be with him. At least not a physical hardship. There was a suave confidence about the man that attracted others too him and Dean wasn’t completely oblivious to that either. If it weren’t for the facts surrounding their relationship, he might have even been buddies with the guy. A few years ago, before everything had happened, and he was convinced they _would_ have been. No question. But Dallas was on his hit list and if he had to play into the role of sex on the side every now and then to get what he needed, he would do so without complaint. 

And that’s all it had been. He’d gotten a hot guy off. And if he’d thought once or twice about how the size of him felt wrong (should have been bigger) or that the hair at the base of his cock was an overly-trimmed blonde (where it should have been a downy chestnut color) or even that the taste just wasn’t quite… Well, Dean knew that it was just because Sam was so fresh in his mind. And when Dallas had attempted to reciprocate and found Dean unable to stir more than a slight interest, it was easily explained away by how long a day it had been. It wasn’t guilt or any moral conundrum that he may be entertaining. No way. 

He attempted to push the thoughts away once again. 

He didn’t want to think about what had just happened, and yet he couldn’t deny that he _was_ satisfied that things with Dallas seemed to be back on track. After the fight at the party he’d known he was at least forgiven, as much as Dallas would ever forgive anyone for anything. Allowed back into the good graces was a different story. But before he’d left, peeling out of the parking lot with his lights off like a spy on the move, Dallas had offered up an invite to the party that was happening that upcoming Saturday. This alone told Dean that now that things were settled between them, they could return to business as usual. 

_This is what I wanted._

The party in question was a closed party at the frat house. It would take place after the ‘official’ party that allowed pledge hopefuls to stream through the frat house, meeting the guys and seeing what each house was all about. It gave the guys a chance to weed out the unacceptable and narrow their sights on the new blood that they thought would fit their definition of what they wanted a ‘brother’ to be. 

The guys of APA were on their best behavior for the official function but the after party… Well Dean had been to the one the year before and he knew it tended to operate along the lines of a freakin’ brothel in the shadiest part of Amsterdam. The alcohol flowed freely, recreation drugs passed around and consumed like candy, contact highs were not so much a possibility as they were a given. He’d even bore witness to a small orgy which broke out in the tv room after a few of the guys’ girlfriends had decided they wanted to experiment while rolling. It was the first real house function of the year and infamous to those in the know. 

Dean had shrugged casually at the invitation. _If he felt up to it after his shift that night_ , had been his flippant answer. It was all for show and they both knew it. He would be there. 

He stood under the spray until the water once more ran cold and only then did he exit the shower. Donning a towel around his waist (not quite fast enough to repress the memory of what Sam looked like wrapped in that very towel) Dean strolled to the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. It was already late and he had class in the morning but if ever he needed something to take the edge off… 

“So…Dallas was here, huh?” Garth asked, idly stirring whatever concoction was boiling in the pot on the stove. 

He closed his eyes and lowered his bottle, pivoting to look back at his friend. He didn’t ask Garth how he knew. He just always seemed to know these things. It might have been unnerving if he hadn’t grown up alongside him. When they were kids, Garth would know when Dean was going to get in trouble for something before Dean himself did. He was just one of those people that seemed to have eyes in the back of their heads. 

The guy would make a great parent. Or teacher. If only he weren’t a metric ton of crazy. 

“Yeah,” the word was clipped and to most people it would have been an instant flashing sign that warned of the danger bringing up the topic might bring with it. But Garth wasn’t most people. 

“Did you… You back to sleepin’ with him?” 

He wanted to ask how Garth could possibly think that was any of his business but the words died on his tongue when he took in the other man’s creased brow. He was worried about Dean. Again. Seemed to be all the other man ever did. 

“Not…sleeping, _exactly_.” 

It was true enough. Dallas was “straight” as far as the world was concerned. And like most people of his stature that were so very very deep in the closet, he seemed to rely heavily on the theory that getting off was the goal and the means meant little. A hole was a hole was a hole afterall. But sleepovers and dates? No, that wasn’t a territory that their screwed up joke of a ‘relationship’ ventured to. 

“You okay?” 

Dean shrugged a shoulder, bringing the glass bottle back to his lips. When he’d swallowed his sip he shrugged again. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Garth studied him intently and Dean tried not to squirm under the gaze that had always been too sharp for his own good. “You’re upset,” he stated very matter of fact. 

It was futile to argue with Garth. He was like a dog with a bone and the second Dean denied anything, he knew it would just make the other man unable to resist digging further. Dean just didn’t have it in him to be dragged through the b.s. at the moment. 

“Just…” He took a deep breath and the truth flowed a little too easily, riding a wave of pent up frustration. “Sometimes it’s all I can do not to smash his perfect fucking face into the nearest hard surface.” 

Garth’s eyes widened to the point that might have been comical had they been discussing virtually anything else. “Why do you do it then?” 

“Why do I do it?” he parroted. It was all so easy for Garth, he realized. So black and white. “You know why.” His voice held a weariness that spoke of just how many times he’d endured this same line of questioning. He knew explaining it to Garth would do no good. He’d attempted time and time again. The best he could hope for was for Garth to continue to support him despite not seeing eye to eye on this. 

He was the only person on Earth that knew what was happening. Knew Dean’s plan. Dean didn’t know if he’d stay sane if Garth wasn’t there for moral support. 

“Yeah. I know why. But you really think _Jo_ wanted this for you, brother?” 

Dean rested his forearms on the counter between them and rolled his beer bottle back and forth between his flattened palms. 

It must really be getting to Garth for him to use the ‘Jo’ card. Garth had been just as much a part of Jo’s life as Dean had and he wasn’t one to indiscriminately use her memory to prove a point. So the fact that the words had left his mouth, should have driven home some sort of point to Dean. Unfortunately they only ate away at the tortured part of him that pointed at himself and said ‘I did this’. 

“Jo would understand. She was a hunter’s kid too, same as me. She knew that there were times you had to do things you didn’t like to get things done. Make things safe. It’s all a means to an end.” 

Clear brown eyes narrowed to slits and Dean swallowed hard against the beer that was trying to work past the sudden lump in his throat. It was clear he’d struck a nerve and he wanted to kick his own ass for saying what he just had. 

“You know, just because my parents weren’t hunter’s… that don’t make me understand less.” 

“I didn’t say you _didn’t_ understand.” 

“You insinuated it. But my mama and daddy were both killed. _By_ a hunter, if you recall. So maybe you should take the ‘greater good’ speech elsewhere.” 

“Garth,” Dean began, his voice thick with the regret and frustration that was now gnawing at his insides alongside the ever-present guilt. He grabbed Garth’s arm before he could turn away. 

Garth didn’t yank his arm out of his grip. That wasn’t his style. He held up his hand and shook his head after staring at Dean long enough to make him start shifting uncomfortably. “I just… Dean I can appreciate how… _dedicated_ you are to seeing this through. However I don’t agree one iota with _how_ you’re doing it. Never have. And thought…” He sighed and crossed his arms. “Well, I’d hoped that Sam was a sign that the Dallas shit might be behind you.” 

Sam’s name entering the conversation pricked at Dean’s insides and he scowled at Garth. “I don’t-,” 

“You said you liked him, right?” 

Dean breathed hard, nostrils flaring, and didn’t bother with a response. They both knew he’d said that very thing only the day before standing in the exact spot that they were standing now. 

“I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer all the time, but even I can tell that the feelin’s mutual. So how’s he gonna feel if he finds out about you’n that asshole’s friends with benefits arrangement?” 

Dean threw up his hands in a sudden surge of frustration. He wanted Sam out of this equation, like yesterday! “I’m not fucking married to the guy! We haven’t made some grand vow of monogamy, Garth. We’re just… hanging out,” he finished lamely. 

Garth’s dubious look told Dean just how much absolute horse shit he thought that statement was. 

“I’ve only known the guy a week. I mean, c’mon!” He ran his fingers through his hair helplessly. 

His friend nodded slow, thoughtfully. Typically you could never know if Garth was about to spew wisdom or utter nonsense. He honestly didn’t care for either at the moment, but he stood his ground and waited for it. 

“Alright. Hypothetically you bump into this guy you’ve known only a week. You’re just… _‘hangin’ out_. And he has some dude hanging all over him, trying to get in his pants…” His words drifted off inviting Dean to complete the mental image for himself. 

Dean took a moment and then shrugged with a nonchalance so convincing that even he almost believed it. “Whatever.” 

Garth shook his head, his eyes radiating something that Dean would have named as disappointment. It settled like lead in his chest and piled neatly on top of the hundreds of other things that had begun to make Dean feel as though he carried the weight of the world. 

He turned, beer in hand, and walked out of the room knowing he needed to put distance between them before something regrettable was said. Or done. 

As he went, he heard Garth mutter under his breath. “Yeah. Whatever.” 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

In life, the majority of days begin and end simply enough. You go through a routine that you’ve ascribed for yourself made up of going from point A to point B to point C until you’ve exhausted the tasks before you and can go back to bed in preparation for more of the same the next day. This is found to be most people’s experience anyway. 

Some mornings, though, feel like they were tailor made with a black cloud just for you. The second you open your eyes, something just tells you that if you want to maintain any shred of happiness, you should just keep your ass parked in your little cocoon of covers and let the next 24 hours roll on by without you interrupting it’s flow. 

Neither of these were the case for Sam when he woke up the next day, right before his alarm was set to go off to wake him for his run. 

As soon as he opened his eyes, he smiled and rolled to his side cuddling momentarily with his pillow. It felt good and he stroked it as one might stroke a lover’s chest, imagining that there was another warm body next to him instead of the fluff-filled cotton case. After a little while, his alarm finally went off telling him it was time and he grabbed the phone to silence it. 

It was at this point that he noticed a message on the screen. 

A message from Dean, to be more precise. 

His insides did some ridiculous little jelly-legged flip-flop happy dance without his permission and he made himself take a breath before opening it. 

The first thing he noted was that the text came a little after two that morning. Not quite two hours after Dean had called him. 

A smile lit his face as he recalled the softly spoken words. 

Yes. Where Dean Winchester was concerned, he was most certainly in trouble. 

_**You awake?**_

This message had been followed a few minutes later by… 

_**Already used to having a giant furnace sleeping next to me. Bed feels too big and too cold.**_

He wasn’t normally one to overanalyze things that seemed trivial. Life or death stuff? Sure! But text messages from a guy? No, that wasn’t really worthy of more than a moment’s thought. If things weren’t straightforward then he wrote it off as being a waste of his brain power. 

No one would ever have known it though if they’d seen the way he was staring at the words on the screen as if they were a code to be cracked. A code that might just hold the meaning of human existence. 

What the hell had Dean meant by that? Did he miss Sam? Was he just being cute? Nice? Was it an offhanded comment or had he been hinting that he wanted Sam to come over? 

After a couple of minutes (which his rational side insisted were a couple of minutes too many) he put the phone aside assuring himself that Dean probably just wanted to have phone sex or something. That sounded like something Dean Winchester would be in to. It didn’t diminish the fact that he _had_ texted and all but said he wished Sam was there in his bed. 

Attempting to shove the text out of his mind, Sam all but sprang from his bed and went about his warm up with a gusto that had been lacking in his routine for months if not longer. 

In record time, he’d pulled on his jogging clothes and was bending down to tie his shoes when he heard someone whistling. He wondered briefly if Nathan was awake. But a quick glance told him that he was still fast asleep, his PS Vita hugged to his chest with one arm and tip of his thumb touching his lips as if he’d been sucking it at some point during the night. So if it hadn’t been Nathan… 

It was him. He was whistling. The realization made him laugh quietly to himself. 

_Weird._

He picked up the rambling unrecognizable tune when he exited the building and bounced on his toes a few times before taking off at a steady lope on his usual circuitous route around campus. 

His habit was usually to let his mind wander. To think about things as they came. Yet today, text notwithstanding, he felt like things were on a rare even keel. The birds were singing in the trees overhead, the sun was rising and casting a beautiful pink and orange glow over the world. It lifted his spirits higher and a sensation of excitement just to be alive rushed through him, making him feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. 

It was like his freaking day had been produced by Disney with a score by Rodgers and Hammerstein. 

When he made his way down the main street, taking in the few shop owners that were already gearing up for the day, his eye kept straying to the Hunter’s Point sign just a little further down he way. 

His eyes gravitated up to the windows above the bar and knew that Dean was behind the drawn curtains. The thought made him bite his lip, wishing he were there as well. 

“Sam?” 

Sam looked behind him and blinked at Garth who seemed to have come out of nowhere. “Garth! Hey!” His feet tripped over themselves and he just managed not to fall over. He slowed to a stop. 

He looked a little haggard, like maybe he hadn’t really been to sleep yet. His hair was ruffled and his clothing rumpled, but his usually little smile was firmly in place. 

“You’re up early,” Sam remarked as the man closed the distance between them. 

“You took the words right outta my mouth. You run this way often?” 

He nodded, feeling a little like the question was geared to ask if he’d made a special trip. “Yeah. Start at the dorms, then take Lake Road all the way around, turn down here and head through campus before its back to the dorm.” 

That sounded a lot smoother and a lot less ‘I planned to tell you this so you didn’t think I was stalking your roommate’ in his head. But it was true. This had been his route previously and, sleeping with Dean or not, he liked the route as it was. 

Garth just nodded, seeming to take his words at face value. “Cool. You run every day? I never could get into it. Run from bullies; I’m so there. Run for your life; I’m on board. Run for the fun of it; Mmm…not so much.” 

“Yeah, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I’ve just been doing it for most of my life so… I guess it’s just a habit at this point.” 

The smaller man nodded again and glanced over at the Hunter’s Point. Sam could see it in his eyes. He was thinking about something and trying to piece together the words. He stood there patiently waiting. 

“So, I was about to head up and make breakfast,” he held a grocery bag up as proof that the makings of a killer breakfast were held within, “want to blow off the run in favor of some famous blueberry muffins and perhaps even a Southwest omelet?” 

“Um…” There were so many ways this could go. For one, if he went in there was he going to look like stalker guy, as he feared he would? “I don’t…” 

Garth quirked an eyebrow. “You worried about Dean thinkin’ somethin’?” 

He shrugged. “Just not sure he’d appreciate me showing up unexpectedly.” 

A hand patted at his shoulder good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout that. You’re special. He _likes_ you.” The way the words were said made Sam think that there was a lot of weight behind them. Like it wasn’t just a toss-away statement. “You like him?” 

It didn’t matter one little bit how much training he’d had or how good a liar he was. He knew it was written all over his damn face and from the looks of Garth’s knowing grin, he was broadcasting it loud and clear. 

“Knew it.” Garth’s mouth drew up and he looked hard at Sam like he might be able to literally read what he was thinking if he stared hard enough. “Look, he’s… Dean’s my best friend. He’s one of the best people I know. He’s just… I don’t know. He gets in his own way sometimes. But I think, if you stick around, you could do him some good.” 

Sam smiled softly and gave a little nod, not really knowing what to say to something like that. He liked the sound of it though. 

“Of course, if you hurt him… they will never find your body.” Something flashed in Garth’s eyes and Sam’s own narrowed curiously. He didn’t doubt the words for a minute but… 

The moment passed in the time it took for his heart to beat and Garth’s face was once again plastered with a giant crooked grin. He shifted the bag from one arm to the other and tilted his head towards the bar. “C’mon. You can help me with the muffins. They’re his favorite.” 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

Hunters rely on being alert, on being able to react within a split second. It can mean the difference between life and death. Both their lives and the lives of others. When Dean had gone out to hunt alongside his father, he’d developed the ability to wake up with only the slightest provocation. 

Over the last few years, after becoming firmly entrenched in the collegiate way of life, he’d developed a multitude of bad habits. Chief among them was sleeping in. Now, instead of bolting to wakefulness the second he heard Garth’s breathing pattern change across the apartment, he slept on. And on. And on. Right up until an alarm or a fitfully full bladder pulled him out of it against his will. 

He always firmly believed that alarm clocks themselves were tools of the devil. Dean had been one to bristle at the noise that emanated from them from the moment he connected the obnoxious sound to being forced to get his ass up and on the bus for school. It just never seemed right that people would do that to themselves. Seemed unhealthy even, startling sounds yanking you from life and sanity-sustaining slumber. So naturally when he was forced to wake to the offensive racket on the days he had morning classes, his mood for that day by default began on something of a sour note. 

On this particular day, his alarm was set to wake him with just enough time to get dressed, grab coffee, and make it to Psychology class before the jerk of a professor could once again bar entrance. 

The alarm was indeed set. He knew this because he’d grumbled about having to set it the night before. (Right after his fight with Garth. Right before he’d texted Sam.) However today it was not an alarm that woke him. Today he was woken in a manner to which he was sure he’d never before been subjected to. 

He was pretty sure he would have remembered something like this. 

Instead of the shrill ear-piercing siren sound or a persistent grinding buzz, the hum of moans vibrating through his own chest and out of his mouth spurred him headlong into insta-wakefulness. 

He blinked several times in rapid succession, attempting to get his bearings and his brain worked overtime trying to piece together what was happening. And then there it was. The cause of the moan that had been coaxed out of him became glaringly apparent. 

_The hell_!?! 

Dean looked down to see a lump covered by his sheet, moving in slow rocking motions, up and down. Charcoal waves performing an entrancing dance. The sound of someone breathing solely through their nose reached his ears just as the suction on his dick increased causing him to hiss through his teeth and ride out the wave of pleasure the pulling sensation sent through his body. 

His eyes went wide. Shock and awe. 

Before he could get lost again in the warm heat enveloping him, he grabbed at the sheet and pulled it away from the bed. 

The most primal of sounds tore growlingly from his throat, teeth catching his bottom lip and closing on it… _hard_. 

He fought against the urge to pinch himself, figuring if this was a dream, why on Earth would he _ever_ want to wake up? 

Between his splayed legs lay Sam, fully clothed in a faded red t-shirt and gray mesh basketball shorts, sucking Dean’s cock just as pretty as you please. 

Realizing Dean had finally come to, Sam’s eyes cut upward and stared hotly at Dean from beneath long lashes, sweat-dampened locks of hair falling down into his face. 

_Christ!_

The man was an absolute fucking _vision_! 

At the point where Sam’s tongue began doing a sweeping motion across the underside of his dick, the feeling of pressure building inside of him tripled and he gripped the sheet beneath him with one hand. The fingers of the other hand buried themselves in Sam’s hair and tightened, transmitting the depth of his unspoken pleasure. For it was the kind of pleasure that makes your eyes roll back into your head as far as they can go. The kind of pleasure that curls your toes and makes the most extraordinary noises and words flow freeform from your lips as though you were speaking in tongues. 

Soon Dean felt it all build up within him. The shock of seeing his own unexpected wet-dream materialize in his bed, the feel of Sam’s lips gliding with hot purpose over his length, friction cut gloriously with spit and pre-come. His hand released the sheet and moved up to grip at his own hair, yanking roughly against his shorter strands as his back bowed up and his teeth clenched. He groaned out his sudden inevitable release but found it in him to glance at Sam before the aftershocks could end, just so he could see visual proof of the man taking everything into his mouth, swallowing him down. 

His breathing fast and ragged, he released Sam’s hair from his fist and gently, using only his fingertips, pushed the stray strands of chestnut off of his forehead. Hazel eyes stared up at him with a look that was part ‘cat that ate the canary’ and part adorable sheepishness. Even before he opened his mouth, Dean could read the question in his eyes, even through his own orgasmic haze. 

“This okay?” 

He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips and laughed a little breathlessly. “You have no idea just how _okay_ that was. In fact,” he sat up on his elbows and rolled his head from side to side to stretch his neck. “I think perhaps I might consider hiring you on as a full-time wake-up call.” 

“Oh yeah?” Sam crawled up his body and Dean laid back, pulling the other man down to settle between the v of his legs. He reveled in the inexplicably sexy feel of the fully clothed body pressed top to toe against his naked skin. 

Sam leaned in for a kiss but Dean pulled his face away. “Morning breath,” he explained. 

“Dude, I just had come in my mouth. You really think a little morning breath is gonna scare me?” 

“Good point.” 

His arms wrapped around Sam and his hands ran slowly up and down his back as they kissed leisurely, fingertips playing with the hem of the cotton shirt. Eventually his hands pushed down the back of Sam’s shorts, molding to the contours of his firm backside. Just as he felt himself stirring, having mostly recovered, Sam pulled back with a final playful nip against his chin. 

“I actually need to get going. I have to run back to the dorm and get ready for class.” 

Dean shifted, pushing the evidence of their attraction together and grinding up against Sam. “Sure about that?” 

Sam’s eyes squeezed shut and he took a steadying breath before rolling them over so that they faced one another side by side. Not that this alleviated the friction. Especially when Dean pulled Sam’s leg up over his hip, slotting them together nicely. 

He rolled his hips; already imagining of how sweet and hot and sooooo tight Sam would feel surrounding him. Sam reciprocated the movement but a pained groan broke the building want. 

“Really need to go…” Sam murmured as Dean mouthed at the line of his jugular. 

He heard the ring of sincerity and Dean whined in disappointment, his mouth still pressed against the warm column of flesh. An actual honest to God whine. 

“Given the choice, I would rather be here,” Sam assured him and Dean believed the words. Knew that Sam would stay right where he was if it weren’t important. He knew Sam was on his own. Knew it was only him taking care of himself. If he screwed the pooch on school, he’d be out and there were no guarantees that he’d get another opportunity like this. 

Dean pushed him away with flat palms against Sam’s firm chest and rolled over onto his stomach as Sam slid off of the bed smoothly. They both knew if distance wasn’t put between them immediately, neither of them would be going anywhere any time soon. 

He watched as Sam stood and eyed the naked lines of his back. The eyes traveled the length of him, drinking him in slowly and Dean watched Sam’s face. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt as sexy as he felt under the steady attention of Sam Campbell. 

His hips ground down into the bed of their own accord as the realization hit him like a physical touch. 

Nope. That wasn’t gonna help. He forced himself to sit up and pull his boxer briefs back on. He didn’t even recall Sam divesting him of the article but, then again, his mind had been on far better things. 

“So,” he started, watching Sam wait patiently beside the door as he found a clean shirt t-shirt and slid it on. “How exactly _did_ you get in here?” 

Sam sniffed and lifted a shoulder. “Didn’t break in, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was out for a jog and Garth invited me in. Actually…um,” the right side of his mouth quirked up and one of his dimples appeared. God, the guy had awesome dimples. “He was a little insistent.” 

He processed that with a terse nod of understanding. Garth was about as subtle as a kick to the teeth. After last night’s conversation it looked like Garth was Team Sam all the way. Not that Dean _wasn’t_ , mind you. 

“I got your text earlier…” 

Dean moved towards Sam, backing him against the door until he could capture the slightly taller man’s mouth in a short but nonetheless heated kiss. “Yeah?” They stood with their foreheads touching, eyes locked. “Funny how fast I got used to your giant ass in here.” 

“My ass is so not giant.” 

“No. But other parts of you are.” 

“Well yeah. But not my ass.” 

“So… not to be too on top of you here, but maybe if you feel like staying after we _study_ tonight…” 

“Not to be on top of _me_? I’m the one that just snuck in your room at the break of dawn to give you a blowjob.” 

“Like I said…any time, baby.” 

Their mouths met one last time hurriedly before he backed away, giving Sam a swift swat to the rear as he turned to open the door. 

The smell wafting through the apartment hit him like a brick wall. 

“Holy shit! Do I smell…muffins?” 

Sam glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Garth said they were your favorite.” 

“Yes I did.” Garth piped up from the kitchen door as they moved down the hallway. “And I have to say, this fella is a quick study. Made this batch himself, with just two little glances at Gran-maw Harvelle’s recipe.” Garth clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder and produced a plate full of perfectly browned, round loaves of sweet blueberry goodness. 

This, Dean knew, was Garth’s peace offering standing before him; All wrapped up in a 6-foot-4, blueberry muffin bakin’ sex god. All that was missing was a shiny red bow. 

He took the one that seemed to be slightly darker indicating his preferred blueberry to muffin ratio and closed his eyes as he bit into the side of it. 

The flavor. 

The consistency. 

Memories rose up, his senses transporting him back to mornings spent at Ellen’s side, watching her mix batter with a practiced ease. The warm sugary smell waking him up on his birthday, the first he’d ever actually celebrated. Tearing into his fourth muffin, stomachache be damned, while sitting across the table from Jo and Garth and laughing about something silly that had happened at school the week before. 

“You made these?” He glanced up at Sam and worked to not sound overly incredulous. After all, only Ellen had ever been able to make them correctly. Jo had never tried because the damn girl couldn’t even get near water on a stove without burning it. Garth made them passably. Close enough to the real thing that they were edible and occasionally enjoyable. 

But these… These were… _perfect_. 

“Garth did have to show me how to mix in the blueberries without decimating them.” 

“Nonsense,” Garth protested, waving a dismissive hand in Sam’s direction. “The man’s a natural.” 

“Well thank you. Both,” Dean gushed, pulling Sam towards him by the front of his shirt and planting a kiss on his lips. It wasn’t overtly sexual. Just a quick peck since Garth was right there. 

At least he meant for it to be a quick peck. He really did. 

It wasn’t until he heard Garth clear his throat and they broke apart gasping for breath that Dean realized a quick peck and kissing Sam were mutually exclusive ideas. 

“You’re right,” Sam panted softly, his face already showing a hint of flush. “Tastes pretty damn great.” He winked and Dean bit his lip, wanting to go back in to give him another taste. 

Garth cleared his throat once more and they finally turned to see him puckering his lips. “My turn!” 

Typically this was Dean’s cue but Sam beat him to it, laughing brightly as he pushed a blueberry muffin against Garth’s mouth. Dean looked at Sam with wide eyes and then back to Garth before his laughter joined Sam’s. Even Garth chuckled and grinned as he devoured the muffin in two bites, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s. 

“Sure I can’t drive you back?” Dean asked as he walked Sam to the door a short while later. “It’ll only take me a minute to get dressed.” 

Sam smiled, both dimples making an appearance this time around. “Thanks but,” he patted his stomach, which was just as flat and hard as it was before, “I think I should work off breakfast.” 

“Gotta say I’m impressed. Five muffins. My personal best is four.” 

Sam winced. “I _may_ have been a tad overzealous in my muffin consumption.” 

”Gonna be amazed if you making it back without seeing those again. Walking might be advisable at this stage.” 

”Good idea.” 

Dean nodded solemnly and snaked his arms around Sam’s neck. “Thanks for…” He cocked his head and snickered. “Muffins and the swell BJ.” 

Sam’s laugh rumbled through him and Dean just barely resisted putting his ear to the man’s chest to feel the warm vibration. He placed small kisses on the underside of Sam’s jaw and moved gradually up until their mouths met. 

“I’ll see you in class,” Sam murmured after several lingering kisses, lips brushing against Dean’s as he spoke. 

Dean immediately closed the door after Sam turned to go, because he would absolutely not do something so ridiculous as watch Sam walk down a flight of damn stairs. (Although the view of the man leaving was pretty damn spectacular. No one would ever have faulted him for it.) He had to maintain some element of coolness and Dean Winchester did not stare longingly after anyone. Ever. 

Garth passed through the living room as he traveled from the kitchen headed towards his bedroom. “Sam gone?” 

Dean nodded. 

“Heard you mention tonight. If he’s staying over again, I was thinking about making spaghetti. Let him know to save his appetite, kay?” 

Dean leaned back against the front door and sighed. The ghost image of the three of them hanging out, eating and drinking and laughing floated through the room before his eyes. At some point he would pull Sam into his room to study. That would last all of half an hour before they were making out like fucking teenagers. He could see it clear as day and it seemed so natural. The rightness of it excited him and yet soothed him like an electric blanket on a harsh winter night. 

The thing with Sam was coming on hard and fast and Dean felt powerless to stop it. Had no desire whatsoever to stop it. 

He recalled Garth’s words from the night before. If Sam knew about Dallas… 

If Dean screwed this up… 

He couldn’t screw this up. 

He swallowed hard and let his head rise and bang back against the wooden door several times with a dull thud. 

It was his second wake-up call of the morning.


	15. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break between posts on this one. I wrote and rewrote this chapter at least three times before I was even remotely satisfied so I hope you like it. Thank you for all of the great comments and support you've all shown on this story! 
> 
> No beta on this or any of my stories so you've been warned.

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

His leg had been bouncing erratically for at least ten minutes, his eyes darting randomly to the door of the lecture hall, and Sam was punishing his fingernails unfairly for his apparent inability to cope with waiting. In short, he looked like a neurotic small-time junkie fiending for his next fix. 

It was inane behavior. 

He wanted to see Dean again, sure. That was part of it. But the real issue was that he was slightly more nervous about it than not. He had left Dean hours before in what could only be described as a lust and muffin-charged haze but it wasn’t until he was well on his way to his first class that it occurred to Sam that they were going to have class together and he had absolutely no idea how being in public was going to change their interaction. 

Dean was a physical person and not one to shy away from public displays if their first class together had taught him anything. But things with him and Dean weren’t like that. He wasn’t the one-night stand Dean was used to and this felt like a whole new ballgame, rules unknown. 

As he sat there, gnawing at his abused thumbnail, Sam was torn between praying Dean wasn’t going to be all over him and hoping he wasn’t going to be snubbed completely in the presence of others. It was a maddening tightrope to be walking. 

“Did you hear me?” 

A few seconds passed before Craig’s voice penetrated the fog that was Sam’s brain. “What? Sorry, no.” He glanced to the side to see his friend staring at him with not a small amount of concern in his eyes. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah! Sure,” he replied with as much normalcy as he could force into his tight voice. “Just thinking about one of my classes. Big test coming up.” 

Craig frowned and Sam sat back in his seat, pulled his hand away from his mouth and placed both hands on his knees. He knew the look was casual yet thoughtful, like maybe he was merely concerned about something as banal as an exam. His friend bought the act easily as Sam knew he would. 

“Pull it together, boy!” his father would have said, in the drill-sergeant way he had sometimes had about him. “Perspective is everything.” 

Perspective. It _was_ everything. Or at least a whole helluva lot. After all, in relation to nearly everything else in the world, compared to all the things he knew lurked in the world just out of sight, he had to admit that his little pseudo-drama over the budding relationship with another man was less than a blip on the radar. It would serve him well to remember that. 

He moved his attention to another point of focus so as to clear his mind. Craig tapping his pen idly on his notebook. He counted, watched for pattern, all in an effort to force his mind away from Dean and something that it would do him no good to fret over until the moment was upon him. 

The pen stopped and he looked up into Craig’s face just as the other man looked at him. “You coming to coffee house after class?” 

“Of course.” After a week it already felt like standing tradition. 

“Good. There’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you.” 

“Alright,” Sam replied though he didn’t ask for further details. From the cryptic way Craig had brought the fact up to him several times without actually expounding upon it, made it seem like it might be something that required them to be somewhere other than the classroom to speak about it. Maybe it was something Craig didn’t want overheard. 

Professor Mason cleared her throat and glanced surreptitiously at the clock at the far end of the lecture hall. It was the only indicator she would give that she was mere moments away from launching into her lecture and they’d do well to have pens at the ready. 

Sam leaned forward, hunkering down over his notebook and printed the date with perfect slow lines, the indigo ink christening the fresh white page. It was a simple act and served to ground him so that when he saw familiar boots come into his line of vision, he wasn’t knocked quite so off kilter as he might have been if his eyes had been allowed to follow the man on his entire path from door to stairs to seat. 

“Hey, Freshman. You like coffee, right?” 

Sam’s eyes trailed up from the boots to take in the strategically ripped jeans that hinted at more than actually revealed any skin, the dark blue v-neck stretched tight across the broad chest and shoulders, and ending at the plump lips curled into a faint smirk and eyes that danced with barely contained amusement. 

“What?” he asked, his brain suddenly not quite firing on all cylinders. 

“Coffee,” Dean prompted again, waiving a cup in front of Sam’s face. “Vendor made mine wrong. Gave me this one free.” 

Sam, with great effort, pulled his eyes away from Dean and glanced at Craig who had his chin propped up on his fist, just waiting for Mason to start, barely sparing a bored glance upon Dean’s arrival. 

“Um,” he looked back at Dean who had put the small paper cup on top of his open notebook and winked down at him. “Yeah. That’s great, thanks!” 

He took the coffee and tried to keep his eyes forward even as Dean slid down into the seat right beside his instead of taking the seat on the end as he had in previous classes. He took a hesitant sip, remembering all too well the sting of scalding coffee from the exact same type of cup slipping down his abdomen in a trail of molten lava at the beginning of the week. There was a relieved sigh when he found that he wasn’t going to be burned once more and then a slightly smaller happy sigh when the first sip proved that Dean remembered how he took his coffee. Or he was just an incredibly lucky guesser. Sam opted to lean towards the former. 

Free coffee, indeed. 

He shot Dean a sidelong glance but found that the other man was sipping his own coffee and keeping his eyes firmly glued to the front of the room, giving nothing away. 

So that’s how they were going to play it. Slow and somewhere in the middle. Not mauling one another, as he found he had a disturbingly intense want to do, but Sam wasn’t exactly feeling like a leper either. That was fine. It worked out pretty well actually. It meant that Sam might actually stand a chance of being able to concentrate during class and the teenage melodrama ravaging his mind could be silenced. 

The first few minutes of class ran smoothly. He listened as Mason launched into her theories on the theme of heroics in their reading, taking perfectly succinct notes when called for. He opened the book to the page she’d written on the board and followed along, writing notes in the margins when he felt that it was something worth coming back to. 

Five minutes into class, Dean’s leg bumped against his. Sam bit his lip. 

It took a few seconds to shake the resulting jolt off, but he did, returning to the book and following along once more. 

Fourteen minutes into class, Dean leaned in and asked Sam if he had an extra pen as his own seemed to be ‘malfunctioning’. 

Sam had never known the word ‘malfunctioning’ could be made to sound sexual. Dean managed the feat to the nth degree as the whole thing was whispered far too slowly for anyone’s sanity. Warm breath hit the side of Sam’s neck and he shivered, chills racing along his back and gooseflesh popping up along his arms. 

He quickly produced a pen, choosing not to look directly at Dean while doing so and then turned the page to catch up to the passage Mason had jumped to. It took longer than it should have to find where he was supposed to be in the text and by the time he reached it, the professor had moved on. 

Twenty-two minutes into class, Dean moved his right foot from it’s perch on the back of the armrest in front of him and slid it directly behind Sam’s left foot so that they were touching calf to shin. Sam took a deep slow breath, counted to ten, and then released it again just as slowly. 

Sam shot him a warning look but Dean just continued to face forward, taking notes as if he weren’t affected in the least. If the heat of the other man’s skin wasn’t still burning into the backside of his leg, he might have thought he’d only imagined it. He sighed and took note that one of the other students was asking a question. He looked in the direction of the voice and tried to listen to Mason’s response, bobbing his head attentively as though it was the most interesting topic in the world even though he hadn’t a clue what was being said. 

Thirty-nine and a half minutes into class, Dean sat up and stretched a bit before readjusting and sliding his arm along the back of Sam’s chair. His upper body shifted closer with the movement and Sam readjusted as well only his was to attempt to hide the slight stirring in his pants. Simple proximity had never seemed like such an issue before. 

At this point, he noticed that Mason’s voice was fading out and a low buzzing noise had filled his ear. It took another minute or two before he returned to fully functioning human being status. Realizing paying attention wasn’t going to be entirely possible while Dean was sitting next to him being all… _distracting_ , Sam set about writing down everything Mason said in shorthand. At least that way he could go back and hopefully make some sense out of the words. 

Forty-nine minutes into the fifty minute class, Dean’s thumb straightened from the hand resting along the back of Sam’s seat and stroked slow circles into the skin at the top of Sam’s spine. Not hard. No, he could have handled hard. But the touch was the type that you might almost feel as though it was imagined. The pad of a thumb ghosting along sensitized skin. 

Sam moaned. Loudly. And then he quickly coughed, just as loudly if not louder, in order to cover the moan. 

After a mortifying eight seconds of noise flowing from Sam’s throat, Dean withdrew his arm and ignored Sam’s outright glare as he sat there, straight-faced, jotting down all of the last minute instructions that Mason was rattling off. The only indication that anything at all had happened was the little light of laughter in Dean’s eyes. 

Once class was released, Dean stood and leisurely packed his books away into his bag. A departure from his typical pants-on-fire exits that Sam had grown to expect. 

“How’s it goin’ Reagan?” he asked, the trademark ‘Dean Winchester’ self-assured grin in place. 

“Not bad, man. You?” Craig asked with a smile of his own. Only his was more ‘I want your vote’ than ‘I want to be your friend’. 

Dean didn’t look at Sam. He just kept his eyes soft and on Craig. But his smile was dialed up a notch and he flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, answering with a, “No complaints.” 

Craig just looked at him, his arched eyebrows indicating that he was aware that there seemed to be a deeper meaning to the response but he wasn’t going to dig. “Good.” 

“So, you guys have plans this afternoon?” 

Craig shrugged and Sam could almost see the fear creeping into his eyes. Could almost hear the inner monologue of immediate concern that Dean was about to crash the pre-law coffee klatch. His friend, he admitted to himself, was kind of a snob. 

“Gonna meet up with Will and the girls for coffee,” Sam finally answered instead, earning him a harsh glance from Craig. 

The recovery was quick though and his friend was already smiling again as he zipped up his own bag a few seconds later. “Speaking of...” He cast an expectant look Sam’s way. “We should get going if we don’t want to be late.” 

“Gotta head out myself,” Dean said, his eyes and his smile lingering a little longer now in Sam’s direction as it bounced back and forth between him and Craig. “I’m headed in for my shift at HP now. If you guys feel like it later, I’m done at eight. Swing by and I’ll buy you a round.” 

At this, Craig’s face lit up with a very so slightly more sincere smile than his ‘future Senator’ phoniness that he’d been projecting. “Right. Yeah! Thanks man! We might do that.” 

“Great! Later!” Dean called as he turned and descended the stairs, taking them at a near jog likely in his hurry to make it over to the bar. His shift started in five minutes after all, Sam thought. The knowledge made his stomach shimmy merrily. He knew Dean’s schedule. 

Weird. 

_Nice_ weird, though. 

“He seems like he’s in an awfully good mood,” Craig remarked in a tone that made it sound as though he was wondering how Dean could have the unmitigated gall to sound chipper. 

“Hmm,” Sam hummed trying to sound like it was offhanded and shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. “Probably got laid.” 

Craig rolled his eyes. “Probably.” 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

Dean had to book it to make it to the bar in time for his shift. Part of him, mostly the part that was painfully aware of the fact that he was ‘power-walking’, wanted to slow down and remember that he was the boss and could therefore show up whenever he damn well felt like it. 

He’d never been that type though. Where his father had been flighty and waltzed in and out of responsibility when it suited him, Ellen had always shown a work ethic that was completely above reproach. It was from Ellen that he’d learned. It was Ellen that had been his role model when the reality of his father had left him reeling. 

So Dean didn’t typically _do_ late. 

“Well, well, well! Look who finally made it! Three minutes late, boss.” 

“Well, well, well! Look who finally bothered to drag _her_ married ass back to work,” Dean returned, glaring at the statuesque bottle-job red-head stationed behind the bar. She was wearing a low cut crop top made out of a well-worn Van Halen t-shirt that showed off lots of flawless skin, which had turned darker with the help of a noticeable new tan. If she’d spent her three-day honeymoon getting a tan, Dean thought she might be doing something wrong. 

He tossed his bag in the back room and returned to stand just a few feet away, hands on hips. 

“Alright, Amy,” he said in a stern voice. 

The girl had the good sense to look worried, though the emotion only flickered briefly across her face before she shut it down and pushed it behind an air of aloofness. 

“Gonna show me the damn ring or what?” He finally asked letting the gruffness give way and laughing openly as she did a giddy little jump and spin. 

A hand was thrust in front of his face and he took hold of it and pulled back so that he might be able to actually clearly see the glimmering rock. “It’s two and a half carats!” she announced, wiggling her fingers so that the diamond’s facets caught the light and sparkled prettily. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what that means. Looks expensive though.” 

She sniffed and rolled her eyes. “Thanks for covering for me, by the way.” 

Dean turned and pulled out two tall rimmed shot glasses. “You say that as if I had a choice. I believe the call went something like ‘I’m on my way to Vegas now. Can’t open.’ Next time you elope, try and make it not so last minute, ‘kay?” 

A bar towel was balled up and connected with the side of his head before falling harmlessly to the floor. “Moron,” Amy said with a giggle. 

“I’m so abused. And here I was thinking I was the boss.” 

“Pain in my rear is what you are,” she said, taking the shot of whiskey that he offered her. It was her favorite and he knew that. He seemed to remember everyone’s favorites. It was a quirk. 

“Pain in Sam’s rear is more like it.” 

Dean scowled at Garth who was suddenly and without warning standing directly behind them. “Garth,” he started in warning. But it was no use. Amy had caught it. 

“Sam?” She said, placing the full shot on the bar and crossing her arms. Curiosity wasn’t exactly the word for the look that entered her eyes. It was more like rabid thirst. She was nearly drooling with her need to hear the story that obviously went along with the pointed comment. Her eyes flitted between Dean and Garth, waiting to see who would break first. “Who’s Sam?” 

“No one,” Dean started, hoping to squash the conversation before it could start. 

“Dean’s boyfriend,” Garth said at the same time, his voice actually ringing with something that sounded an awful lot like pride. 

Amy’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs and her mouth fell open. “ _Boyfriend?_ ” she shrieked. 

Dean held up his hands, trying to calm and redirect her before she went bouncing and shooting across the room like a spastic pinball. “No,” he said firmly. “No.” 

She tilted her head and gave him a look that said she thought he was well full of crap. 

And really even to him that ‘no’ seemed a fall a bit flat. “Not as such,” he finally relented. 

“May as well be,” Garth murmured to Amy out of the side of his mouth. 

“Can we just... _not_ analyze my love life please?” 

This was the wrong thing to say. Or maybe it was just that it was the wrong two people to say it to. 

Garth and Amy looked meaningfully at one another before turning their gazes back to Dean. “Oh,” she said with a note of stunned amusement in her voice. “ _Love_ life?” She elbowed Garth in the ribs. “He has a love life, Garth. You aware of this?” 

“Not as such,” Garth threw the words back at Dean but with a smile that was a lot nicer than the middle finger Dean was showing him. 

“If you two are done, how about we toss back this shot in honor of Amy Samson becoming…Mrs. Amy Scott!” He poured and handed a third whiskey to Garth. 

“Actually I’m gonna hyphenate.” 

“Sounds painful,” Dean immediately deadpanned. 

Garth frowned. “So, wait a minute. You’re gonna be Amy Samson-Scott?” 

Amy nodded, holding her shot up towards the other two. 

The frown deepened. “So you’re gonna be A.S.S.” 

Dean didn’t even try to suppress his grin, raising his shot alongside Amy’s. “To ASS!” he called out loudly. A call that was echoed by several of the regulars that, even if they didn’t know what was going on, knew a good toast when they heard it. 

The shots clicked together and they downed them in one quick go, like seasoned professionals. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

Once Amy had gone, Dean and Garth started getting things set up for a busy Friday night. Since everyone at the university had their first full week out of the way, the students would be coming in droves to the bars. It was a pattern that Dean had picked up on many semesters ago. With this in mind, he planned accordingly. 

They had a double shipment of beer and liquor at the ready in the storeroom and that night they would have a local band on the small stage in the back. That would be much later after his shift however. He’d also learned after many semesters, that the crazy mad rush was something he no longer cared to be in the middle of. At least not behind the bar. 

He left that to Garth and the others. 

Still, that wouldn’t get him out of the initial wave so he moved to pull out as much beer as would fit in the bar cooler to cut down on mid-shift restocks. 

The afternoon went by quickly. The regulars kept him entertained and the college kids began trickling in at a steady pace. 

Beer, shot, mix drinks, beer, beer, beer, mix drink, spiked coffee, beer… 

He bullshitted, he chatted, he listened and laughed, and he flirted. After working at the original Hunter’s Point well before he was of the legal age to technically do so, these things were engrained in him. They came second nature. 

So when Marley Thompson leaned against the bar, batting her lashes at him in that sugary sweet way she had about her, he winked. 

When Taylor, one of the guys that had been in his Art History class the semester before, slipped him a napkin with his number written on it, he raised and lowered his eyebrows in his ‘if you want me you gotta catch me’ swagger before letting the guy see him shove the napkin in his pocket. 

And when Abby Hart hopped up on a stool and leaned forward with obvious intent to show him just what lie beyond the neckline of her flowing pink top, he looked his fill at the graceful hills and valley that had been dictated by Victoria’s Secret and licked his lips before telling her how ‘ _lovely_ she looked that evening. She had walked away with an obviously renewed confidence. 

This was normal. This was Dean’s life. 

And then something happened to knock his happy innocently flirting ass for a loop. 

She sat at the far end of the bar watching him as if she’d been waiting with never ending patience for him to see her. For _him_ to come to _her_. She was a siren in her tight green dress, her raven hair wavy and flowing over her bare shoulders, her lips colored to be the exact shade of a ripe red cherry. 

He bypassed the few other people waiting to place orders and leered at her. The look all but saying ‘I’ve seen you naked and remember it quite fondly’. “Erica.” The name rolled slowly off of his tongue. 

Her white teeth flashed from behind the cherry lips and she feigned a demure laugh. There was absolutely nothing demure about her. He knew that for a fact. 

“What can I get you tonight, sweetheart?” 

“Amaretto Sour.” 

“Hmm… I can do that. Just the one?” 

She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. “Mmmhmm,” she hummed. The subtext was loud and clear; the words between the lines, large print, underlined, and bolded. 

“What happened to date guy?” 

“Well that’s an interesting story. If you’re free after work I would really . . . _enjoy_ telling you all about it.” 

Dean rubbed his lips together and sighed. Any other night and this would have been so ideal. She was nearly his perfect match sexually. No strings, hot as Hades, and could do things with her hands that… But he didn’t even consider it. Not that she wasn’t still all of those things. He just couldn’t not admit to himself that he would rather actually study with Sam than be balls deep in the goddess of fucking that sat before him. 

Christ how had this happened? 

“Sorry. Have plans.” 

Her lips plumped into a playful pout. “Now surely you’re not sore about my not being available last week, are you? That’s not like you, Dean.” 

“Nope. Just have plans,” he shrugged, letting her know that this was just how it was. 

“Fair enough. So maybe…” Her eyes jumped quickly towards the door that led into the back room. That floor had seen her knees so many times it probably thought it was a confessional. 

Dean looked at the door and then back at her, considering the offer. It would be easy. Quick. Hot! Definitely hot. Could not forget hot! 

His mind brought a memory of the last time they’d been in there to the forefront. The image was that of her dark hair wrapped around his fist as she sucked him hard and fast. Her fingernails, painted pale pink at the time, had been biting into the flesh of his ass as she urged him to fuck her mouth. He remembered looking down and seeing nothing but those lips… 

And then those lips – those ruby red lips – shifted. The mouth was wider, paler, and with scruff at the edges. The eyes weren’t sharp cat’s eyes but soft burning hazel. The hair, once onyx, was now a shorter lighter color. Brown. 

Sam. 

“I’m… Uh… I can’t,” he breathed out on the tail end of a tiny huffing laugh. 

She looked at him hard, her eyes narrowed and probing. Finally one side of her mouth curled. “Some other time, then.” 

It was said as a statement and because of that, Dean decided it didn’t need an answer. He just backed up a step, his eyes still on Erica. He looked away only long enough to make her drink but by the time he’d returned, perhaps a total of less than two minutes, there was a man standing next to her already making his move. 

He wasn’t jealous. One had to be invested to be jealous. It was more like he was confused. And a little wary, if he was being honest. After all, a week ago he would have had her dress bunched up around her hips and her back pressed up against the wall already. He just couldn’t believe things had changed that much in a week. 

The bell over the door jingled pleasantly but Dean was immune to it at this point. He’d heard it nearly a hundred times at this point in the night and didn’t even spare a glance for the newcomers. It wasn’t until he heard Garth laugh and call out “Look who’s here!” that he finally looked past the crowd surrounding the bar. 

Whatever it was that he’d been thinking before that moment… It evaporated in a puff of smoke. 

Smiling hazel eyes met his across the bar and Dean shook his head at himself as he felt his brain take a holiday. 

Sam. 

“Gentlemen!” he started as they sidled up to the bar. “Give me just a moment and I’ll get your orders.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Garth moving in. He wasn’t sure if it was to grab the drinks for them or if was to chat with Sam. Either way, Dean shook his head and then made a motion for him to work on other drink orders. 

Garth’s look as he passed told him he’d better be careful but Dean ignored the silent warning. 

“Reagan. Campbell,” he greeted both of them jovially, making sure not to put any extra emphasis on Sam’s name. 

He felt like he might as well be wearing a sandwich board that stated Sam was his but maybe it was only that obvious in his head. He sure hoped so. 

“Winchester! Busy night!” Craig shouted, his eyes moving around the rapidly filling room. 

“No kidding. We’re gonna have Road’s Collar playing in a couple of hours.” 

“Oh yeah? Isn’t that Iggy Newman’s band?” 

Dean nodded. Iggy was the cousin of one of the Alpha Psi’s. This of course gave them quite the leg up when Dean was looking for possible entertainment for Hunter’s Point. After all, helping the Alpha Psi brotherhood was his life’s ambition as far as they knew. 

Anything he could do to help the _murdering_ bastards! 

“So what can I get for you? On that house,” he reminded them. 

Craig pretended to think it over but Dean knew what he was going to go after before he’d even asked. He’d brought some Pappy Van Winkle in for one of the regulars; a professor with great taste and money to burn. It wasn’t his typical stock, but he turned away and grabbed the bottle, presenting it against his arm like a fine wine for Craig’s inspection. 

“Yes,” he said, effecting an arrogance and pretension that really ought not have been so readily evident in someone salivating over a free drink. “Just the thing.” 

Dean nodded and turned his questioning gaze on Sam who just smiled. Dean rolled his eyes, belatedly wondering if it came off as looking too affectionate. “And one Freshman special.” 

“Hey I’m gonna go grab that table,” Craig said, pointing towards one of the high tops next to the front window. “Can you grab the drinks? And…Oh, hey Dean? Give me one for Dallas too. You know what he likes.” 

Dean gave a thumbs up, suddenly not trusting himself to speak. 

“Dallas is coming here?” He asked Sam once Craig had made his way to the front and could be seen shooing off another student who’d spotted the open table. 

Sam frowned. “Yeah. I didn’t know until we were coming in. Are things…? Is that okay?” 

It took Dean nearly a full minute, a minute in which he questioned if blood could literally freeze in one’s veins, to realize that Sam didn’t know every detail of everything but was only reacting to the fact that the last time he’d seen Dean and Dallas in a room together, Dean had been used as a punching bag. 

He tried to work up a smile for the pure consideration behind the question, but the fact that Dallas was about to be there, sitting right at the table with his _whatever_ , made his skin prickle with uneasiness. 

“Dallas and I…we had our ‘misunderstanding’ and he got to knock me on my ass for it. We’re all good. Even Steven.” 

Sam looked like he was about to comment on this when he caught sight of exactly what Dean was doing and laughed brightly. 

Dean held a finger up in front of his lips and finished tapping off Craig’s tumbler of Pappy with water. Not like the self-important asshole would know the difference. 

“I hope that isn’t standard practice,” Sam joked, holding his own drink up as if to inspect the quality. 

“Only for the extra special patrons.” 

Sam leaned forward and Dean found himself doing the same. As much as he absolutely could not kiss Sam in the middle of the crowded bar at that second, he knew if it were on the table, he might not be able to refuse the offer either. As it was, Sam merely got close enough so that Dean alone could hear him. 

“Thought _I_ was extra special.” 

“Oh you’re special all right. You’re so special you get to go up to the penthouse suite later.” 

Sam’s mouth formed an “o” in mock surprise. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yep. ‘Je biserai’ every inch of your body…” he whispered just loud enough to be heard. Surely he was butchering the French in some way but his lover would get the gist. 

Sam hid a chuckle behind the back of his hand but Dean could see it in the happy slant of his eyes and the light bounce of the broad shoulders. “You Googled it?” 

Dean shrugged. Okay so his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he’d looked it up on a translation ap while he’d been looking back through their texted conversation the night before. “And?” 

Sam’s eyes sparkled brighter than the rock on Amy’s finger and Dean felt a feeling of calm warmth settle over him. The sounds around them dimmed as did the light. In that moment and without meaning to, his sole focal point became Sam. 

“Hey, Sam!” Craig called out, yanking them out of their impromptu staring contest. 

Dean looked over Sam’s shoulder before he could turn and saw that Dallas had slid in without him even realizing. He and Craig were already sitting at the table looking their way. 

Shit! 

He could only pray that if Dallas saw him and Sam making eyes, that he thought nothing of it. 

Grabbing the three drinks on the bar before him, Sam winked and started for the table where they waited for him. 

Maybe his prayer was going the wrong direction, though. Because Dallas didn’t come out to socialize with nobodies. Which meant he was there for a reason. And from the look on his face as he watched the Freshman’s approach, it appeared that reason might just be Sam. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

Sam carefully lowered the three drinks onto the table, he’d proudly managed not to spill on the journey over from the bar, and offered a polite smile to Dallas. 

“Dallas, you remember Sam Campbell.” 

“I do,” the blond man remarked, staring hard at him. “From the party, right? Last weekend?” 

Sam nodded. He really had no idea what Dallas was doing there. After coffee with the others, Craig had just reiterated the fact that he needed to ask him about something and then started texting away on his phone. 

As they’d approached the Hunter’s Point, Sam body all but gearing up for the event that would be seeing Dean Winchester standing behind the bar, Craig’s phone had chimed. He’d at this point been informed that they were going to have a third party for this mysterious conversation. 

“He’s perfect,” Dallas remarked after a moment of uncomfortable staring. 

Craig nodded and when he grinned, Sam thought it looked a lot like a puppy who had just gotten praise from it’s master. “I told you so.” 

“Perfect?” Sam questioned feeling a bit put off by the fact that they were talking about him as if he weren’t there. 

Dallas cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Yeah. I can tell. There’s just something about you. You’ll be a perfect addition.” 

“Perfect addition for _what_ , exactly?” 

Craig crossed his arms on the table and leaned in as if sharing a deep dark secret. “Sam, we want you in Alpha Psi Alpha.”


	16. The Invitation

TIoK  
Chapter 16: the Invitation

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban2_zps251464f2.jpg.html)

“I’m sorry, what?” Sam frowned and shook his head, not sure he’d heard his friend correctly. “You want me to what?” 

Craig’s eyes cut to Dallas before flitting back to Sam. He didn’t seem quite as excited as he had a few seconds before and Sam got the feeling that his reaction wasn’t exactly what they’d been expecting. 

“What my brother meant to say,” Dallas began, his index finger delicately tracing the rim of his pint glass, “was that we would be very _honored_ if you would consider pledging our fraternity.” 

It still didn’t make sense. “Why me?” 

“Because we like you,” Craig answered quickly as if it should be obvious. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long but I consider myself to be an excellent judge of character. I wouldn’t bother hanging around you if I didn’t think you were a great guy. You’re smart, funny and-” 

“You’re gay.” 

Sam’s head whipped around, his eyes staring into shrewd pools of crystalline blue. “Excuse me?” 

Dallas leaned back in his seat, his arms opening in a gesture that looked both easy-going country boy and lord of the manor. His smile seemed genuine and not at all like he’d just said something so far out of left field. “I’m not big on beating around the bush, Sam. If you’re as smart as Craig says you are, then you probably have a good head on your shoulders and wouldn’t appreciate us blowing smoke up your ass. So I’d prefer to give it to you _straight_.” He snorted and took a sip of his beer before leaning back toward Sam. “No pun intended.” 

Sam was even more confused if that was remotely possible. He looked back and forth between the two men. Craig looked decidedly uncomfortable at the abrupt turn in the conversation. Dallas looked confident and unaffected and could surely have given Dean Winchester, himself, a run for his money in the cocky department. 

“So…you want me to join because I’m… _gay_?” 

“Correct.” 

“Um,” he scratched his head and sniffed a little laugh. “I really don’t know… I mean, no offense but I didn’t realize fraternities allowed thinking outside of the hetero _box_. No pun intended.” He said returning the sentiment. 

Dallas chuckled. “That’s not entirely untrue. I’ll give you that. Some are far more tolerant than others. However, this is _my_ year to run APA. I have limited power as president since we are merely a single cog in a bigger machine, but one of the things I’m working on is making our little piece of Alpha Psi Alpha more … inclusive, if you will.” 

“Very admirable of you,” Sam said slowly. 

His expression must have revealed just how dubious he was because Craig sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. 

“Alright, in the interest of putting all of the cards on the table,” Craig began while looking pointedly at Dallas who seemed to be ignoring him in favor of smiling into his glass. “We need you, Sam. There has been a slight drop off in numbers over the last few years and that means less money coming into the house. If we show an increase in our…um, ‘minority members’,” the words were accompanied with quote fingers, “we’ll qualify for a university grant.” 

Sam frowned and ran his fingers through his hair. He took a sip of his drink and stared down into the dark liquid. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t have an answer. It was more that he had to figure out how to phrase it. Like it or not, it was one of the few friends he had who was asking this of him. He couldn’t forget that. 

“I… I appreciate the offer. However I’d prefer not to be in a group that wouldn’t have anything to do with me except for what they can get out of it.” 

“It’s not like that at all, Sam. We were going to invite you to the meet-n-greet tomorrow anyway. Before I even knew you preferred guys. We would have invited you and hoped for the best. This is just more of an incentive for us to get you to say yes. I figured asking you and putting the offer out there in person would be the best course.” 

“I can see why you’d think that. And, don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate the lack of _smoke_ blown up my ass,” he glanced at Dallas. “I just… I can’t.” 

“Can’t what, specifically?” Dallas asked, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. His eyes had intensity about them now. Calculating. 

“Can’t be in a group that is going to look down on me for my sexuality for one.” 

Dallas scoffed. “Nobody in _my_ house is gonna give two shits who you sleep with.” 

“Yeah right. You even said yourself; it’s a matter of tolerance. Tolerance is not the same as acceptance.” 

“It’s a brotherhood. It’s a family. Yeah there are going to be one or two that aren’t going to like the fact that one of their brothers prefers dick. But the truth, with my hand up, is that we already have a few that like to disappear together during parties, if you know what I mean. They just aren’t the types to come right out and wave the rainbow flag. So when I tell you that it’s not going to be an issue, it’s not going to be an issue.” 

“You have parties, formals and such, right?” 

Both men nodded. 

“So if I brought a guy…” 

“Totally cool,” Dallas pronounced, slicing his hand through the air horizontally. 

“Not a problem at all,” Craig added his voice. 

Sam arched a brow and sipped his drink once more as his eyes darted back and forth between the other two. 

“I know this whole thing is about brotherhood and camaraderie and whatnot. And parties. I’m admittedly somewhat ignorant to what else you guys do.” It was always good to have all of the information. Informed decisions were usually better decisions. 

Craig jumped on this, spouting off facts and figures, obviously rehearsed to the point that the recall of the information was instantaneous. He explained about their community service. Told Sam about their charitable work with the Children’s Hospital two towns over, where the guys would go dressed up in costume and entertain the kids once a month. By the look on his face, he’d saved the best for last. The cherry on top. What he thought would appeal to Sam most. The brotherhood and it’s far reaching effects. 

“Just think, Sam. Come time for graduation and you’re looking at law schools? Those applications will look so much more amazing with ‘member of Alpha Psi Alpha’ on them. You get that law degree and not sure what to do next? Alpha Psi Alpha members are everywhere. It’s instant worldwide networking. With the support of our brothers, some in extremely affluent positions, you would have a job before you even pass the Bar Exam.” 

“It’s true. When we say it’s a brotherhood we take that very seriously.” Craig nodded at Dallas’s statement but the blond man wasn’t finished. “We are a powerful group, Sam. It may not seem like it, but we take care of our own. You would be taken care of for as long as you’re a brother.” 

It all sounded good. Better than he’d originally thought. He _almost_ felt bad knowing he’d passed judgment on the group without bothering to find out what they were about. However there were still a few glaring problems. 

“Two things. First off, this takes a lot of time. I’ve read stories about hazing and sleep deprivation…” 

“Per the university contract with all Greek Sororities and Fraternities, hazing is no longer permitted and/or tolerated.” Craig’s words sounded as though he were reading directly from a cue card. But then he smirked and looked at Sam out of the side of his eyes. “But we totally do. All in good fun though. Nothing dangerous.” 

“I just don’t know if I want to risk my study time and-” 

Craig cut him off with, “We have mandatory study time for all pledges and brothers.” 

“Okay...” Sam swallowed, not really thrilled to point this next part out. “It also costs money, right? Dues and-“ 

“We’ve already secured a ‘scholarship’ for you. All dues and fees waived.” 

Sam scowled at his friend, feeling a bit cornered. “Well that’s convenient.” 

“We wanted to make this deal air tight. You have no idea how much this grant would mean to us.” 

“So how does that even work? You want me to join to get a grant but you’re going to foot the bill for my financial obligation to the fraternity? Why not just use that money?” 

“We spoke with the national chapter. They give a pass to a handful of brothers each year that perhaps are going through difficult times or have extenuating circumstances. They agreed that this case fit.” 

“This is,” he looked at his friend and tried to ignore Dallas’s unnervingly penetrating stare, “a great offer. It’s also a lot to think about. How much time do I have before you need an answer?” 

“Tell you what, you should come by the meet-n-greet tomorrow.” 

Dallas drank his last few sips of beer and then gave another of those cocky grins. “Definitely. Come by and meet the guys. Get a feel for things. We can talk afterwards.” 

He couldn’t really do much more than nod in agreement. 

Several minutes after Dallas and Craig had made their exit, Sam jumped as he felt a hand come to rest on his right shoulder. 

“Just me,” Dean said, not sitting but choosing to stand just behind Sam. He wrapped a strong arm around Sam’s chest from behind and nuzzled slightly into the side of his neck seemingly unconcerned that they were still in the middle of a crowded bar. “You look awfully thoughtful.” 

Sam had been thoughtful. He’d been rolling over the pros and cons of the proposal in his mind. However with the sudden contact of warm lips against his skin, his brain had proven fickle and immediately all he could focus on was Dean. “Just thinking about going upstairs. To _study_.” 

The “mmmm” that came out of Dean’s throat was a vibration against his ear. Sam began to stir at the feel of it. “Well guess what?” 

“What?” He husked. 

“It’s eight o’clock, Sammy.” 

Sam stood so fast that he nearly toppled the table. Neither of them seemed excessively worried about it. Dean just grabbed him by the front of the shirt and pulled him through the back door, their hasty exit marked with several loud wolf-whistles and cat calls, and Garth yelling “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” 

Sam wasn’t sure what Garth’s list of ‘not to dos’ was but he was pretty damn sure they were probably gonna cross off at least a few. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

“So.” 

“So.” 

The sound of labored breathing filled the room. 

“This is certainly an interesting study method you have here.” 

“I like to think so.” 

“If you can call it studying. 

“Studying is subjective. I mean look at how much you just learned about physics and the laws of attraction.” 

“And…friction.” 

“Not to mention anatomy.” 

“Fair point.” Sam whimpered as Dean’s hips rolled and pushed his softening cock so that it shifted within the clenching hole where they were still even now joined. “Well made.” 

“God,” Dean whispered, his lips finding the sensitive pulse point of Sam’s neck. The spot that he knew made the other man shiver any time he even accidentally brushed against it. He winced but still smiled as Sam tightened around him hard once more and a little gasp slipped out against his ear. “I can’t seem to get enough of this.” 

He felt Sam’s chest vibrate as he chuckled beneath him. He knew he should move, but the longs legs still encircled his waist and he just couldn’t find it in him to want to break the contact. “I believe that’s called Nyphomania.” 

“No. Not…” Dean’s own breath caught as Sam gently caught the lobe of his ear between his teeth. “Not sex. I mean… Yeah, _sex_. But I meant,” he pulled back so that he could look down into the warm hazel eyes, “being all wrapped up inside of you. Specifically.” 

Sam’s face went blank and the body beneath him tensed. 

Dean bit his lip and cursed himself. For some reason he had trouble keeping his mouth shut around Sam. The guard he would normally have built up like the front gate of Fort Knox seemed as sturdy as tissue paper in his presence. 

He began to pull out, getting the feeling that he’d overstepped his bounds and giving both of them space might be advisable, but the feeling of firm thighs clamping down on his sides and legs crossing against his lower back barred further movement. His eyes flicked down to Sam’s in the low lamp-lit light of the room and he watched as the veil lifted, the closed off expression melting into heat and… something else. Something deeper. 

Arms wound around his sides and he felt Sam’s fingers splay wide over both his upper and lower back, urging him back down so as to close the distance between them. Dean did so gladly and was only slightly surprised when he felt Sam’s weight shift and the world go topsy-turvy as they rolled, coming to stop when Dean was planted firmly on bottom. 

Sam buried his face in the crook Dean’s shoulder, but it didn’t feel quite as sexual as it felt like he might be hiding. He nosed against Dean’s ear and Dean had to bite his lip to keep from wincing away from the tickling sensation. 

“I… Can’t get enough of the feeling of _you_ buried in _me_ too. _Specifically_ ,” was gruffly whispered against the column of his throat. 

Dean felt his body thrum at the admission, his stomach dropping the same way it did when he opened up the Impala on an open backcountry road until he reached speeds that the makers never could have imagined and definitely couldn’t have intended. 

“Sam,” Dean spoke. The name hung in the space between them. There was nothing else to say. It was a statement, a question, a whispered benediction all rolled into one. 

Sam must have felt the gravity held within the utterance of his name. He pulled away from his momentary hiding place and their eyes met and held. 

Dean wasn’t one for poetry and prose. He wasn’t overly sentimental. He wasn’t the type to tear up at heartwarming movies about fuzzy animals and small children. But the sweet tentative smile that wavered on the other man’s lips made his throat close. The slight flexing dilation of the inky pupils in the unblinking eyes, allowing little glimpses of the earth and moss mottled irises beyond, made him feel a little dizzy even as his body was pinned firmly to the bed. Without any further provocation, he marveled as he felt his heart rate increase. Fingers skimmed up and down the valley that followed the line of Sam’s spine in a relaxed manner that starkly contrasted his urge to grab, to possess, to mark, to bind them clear down to the cellular level. 

After a long stretch of silence, Dean shook his head. “You’re gonna wreck me.” 

Sam sniffed at that. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.” The look he gave Dean was requesting permission, but it seemed moot as Dean was still technically inside Sam, however he gave a little nod and Sam’s lips slanted over his own. Warm and wet and sweet, their tastes intermingled so only a hint of Sam’s natural tang lingered. Dean swept his tongue deeper, probing for more of the other man’s addictive flavor. 

[ ](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/thecalmunderthewaves/media/TIoK-Ban1_zps7f7e7945.jpg.html)

“We should probably eat something,” Sam murmured into Dean’s mouth some time later. 

“Mmm,” Dean gave an undignified whine. They had already gone two rounds and he knew he needed a recharge but he was loath to move. “Garth made enough spaghetti to feed a small village.” He sighed and finally allowed himself to slide out of Sam, smiling at Sam’s sad little grunt, pulling the condom off before tying and disposing of it. His trashcan was building quite the collection of used latex. “Stay,” he insisted as Sam started to roll to the edge of the bed. “I’ll bring it to you.” 

He watched Sam’s eyes grow heavier by the second. His hair was a mess of waves and bed-head after all of the rolling around they’d been doing, and his lips swollen and wine-stained pink. Not even bothering to resist, Dean crossed back to the bed and, holding Sam’s chin beneath his thumb and edge of his index finger, he tilted his head back and leaned down for one more kiss. 

Despite the fact that Sam had only seconds ago looked like he might pass out, his eyes flared back to life. It was reminiscent of a Disney princess, awoken by the magic of a kiss. Dean felt the strong hands run idly up the back of his leg to palm his right ass cheek and the long fingers massage the flesh in a decidedly un-Disney-like manner. 

Sam purred and Dean echoed the sound. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said reluctantly, backing out of range of the long arms. 

Food. Water. A quick nap. That’s what they needed. Then he figured they had a few more goes in them. Thank goodness, Sam’s libido seemed to rival his own. 

Garth had made an unnecessarily large batch of spaghetti before he’d come down for his shift and Dean chuckled as he noticed the bowls set out beside the covered pot which had been left on the stove. A note beside the bowls simple said ‘Dig in, boys’. He shook his head but did as the note commanded. 

This was another dish Garth had learned at Ellen’s hip. It was standard fare, nothing too different from the dish hundreds of thousands of other spaghetti-making families across the globe made; only they made it with ground turkey and a little extra spice for good measure. 

Before he could pick up the bowls with the intent of heading back to the room, Sam was at his back, reaching around him for his and gently nibbling at Dean’s shoulder in the process. 

“Thanks.” 

“Thank Garth. I swear he thinks I can’t feed myself.” 

“Don’t complain.” Sam retreated to the opposite side of the small kitchen. “At least you have someone that cares enough to think to feed you.” 

Dean flicked the note still folded so that it stood up on the counter without support. “I think you’ve managed to qualify for Garth’s food benefits program as well.” 

A small genuine smile lit Sam’s face but he didn’t reply, choosing instead to dig in to the heaping mound of noodles, meat, and sauce straight away. “MMMmmmmm…” he moaned around his fork. 

The sound had Dean sighing against his own mouth full, his spent cock jumping with renewed interest. He groaned and moved a hand to cover himself, willing the hyper-sensitive, single-minded member to calm down for just a few more minutes. 

“This is amazing!” 

Dean arched an eyebrow at the exclamation. “Just spaghetti, man.” 

“But… It’s really good! I mean, this isn’t like normal spaghetti, is it?” 

“Just turkey instead of beef.” 

“Oh,” Sam stared down at the food as if contemplating it’s existence. 

“You’ve had spaghetti before, right?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” He shrugged and looked back up at Dean with a touch of embarrassment in his eyes. “Never had homemade though. Just the kind from a can.” 

Dean just blinked at this. He knew what life was like on the road with his own father. Their meals had been less than stellar, mostly dining at greasy spoons or picking up quick food-flavored substances from the gas stations along the way. His favorite had always been the Gas-n-Go microwave burritos. That had made up a couple of years of his life but to imagine an entire childhood spent in such a way, it was beyond him. 

Finally he gave a little nod to tell Sam that he understood. “Well now you’ve had the _real_ thing, there’s no goin’ back.” He winked. “Just like me.” At this he rested his hands on the counter behind him and subtly thrust his hips forward. 

Sam groaned at the obvious show and Dean watched as the previous discomfort on Sam’s face evaporated. 

Dean closed the distance between them and clasped his fingers around Sam’s wrist to reel him in, allowing the other man a moment to place his bowl on the counter before pulling their bodies flush. 

“What? You denying the fact that I’ve ruined you for other men?” 

Sam snorted. “Not at all.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“Yeah. Looks like I’m on a strict diet of pussy from here on out.” His voice dropped to a deep bass as he laughingly said with uncommon comedic zest, “Sam Campbell, ladies man.” 

Dean’s eyes narrowed with a mocking frown and smacked a palm down on Sam’s bare ass, feeling extremely satisfied at the little startled yelp he pulled from the other man. His other hand settled over the other globe of his ass and pressed their hips together, grinding the sensitized flesh together in pleasure-pain that had them both gasping. 

“That’ll be the day. Pussy. What the fuck,” Dean muttered, shaking his head even as he moved to kiss Sam for what seemed like the thousandth time that night with no end in sight. 

“Aww! Come _on_!” 

They both momentarily tensed at the unexpected addition of a third voice in the room. 

Dean smirked at Garth who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen looking traumatized, his fingers covering his eyes. 

“What?” he asked innocently. He could feel the heat of mortification rolling off of Sam and he swiveled his hips, grinding against him unabashedly. 

“Cover it up guys. Seriously. I don’t need to see the show. I get the audio version enough as it is.” 

“Gonna go grab pants,” Sam mumbled, slinking past Garth with his hands covering as much of his well-endowed package as he was able. Not that Garth was looking anywhere near the vicinity of Sam’s crotch. 

Dean rolled his eyes and stood his ground, trying not to laugh as Garth began moving around the kitchen with his eyes firmly glued on the ceiling. 

“Sounded like you’ve been having a good time.” 

“Okay?” Dean was at a loss as to how Garth knew that if he’d only just arrived. 

“Um, yeah. You can totally hear you guys downstairs when things quiet down.” 

“What?!” 

A large glob of spaghetti landed on the counter as Garth tried to scoop the noodles into a bowl while his eyes remained trained heavenward. “Yep. It didn’t get quiet too often but when it did, I had to tell everyone you were working out. Punching bag. You’re welcome.” 

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me right now?” 

“I wish I were.” Garth chanced a glance his way, making sure to keep his eyes only on the upper hemisphere of things. “It’s not like we ever had any reason to know before now.” 

“Damn,” he rubbed his hand down his face and blew out a harsh breath. “Well don’t tell Sam, for shit’s sake.” 

“Don’t tell Sam what?” Sam asked, choosing that exact moment to breeze back into the room clad in a pair of Dean’s gym shorts. There was just something so sexy about seeing the man in his clothing. He tossed Dean a pair of short boxer briefs and his brows raised in question. “What? It’s clothing. It covers up without obscuring the goods completely,” he said by way of explanation. 

“Ugh, whatever! Just cover the _goods_ already!” 

Dean wrinkled his nose at Garth, rolling his eyes again even if it was wasted on his friend. 

“So…what aren’t you telling Sam?” Sam asked once more. 

Dean should have known he wasn’t going to let that go. “That one of the girls was asking about you. Yeah,” He continued on at Sam’s dubious look. “She was asking who the tall hot guy was. I didn’t want to tell you what with your whole turnin’ to pussy plan and all. Might tempt you away from me.” 

Sam shook his head, looking as though he believed absolutely none of what was just said, but he didn’t ask anything further and Dean allowed himself to relax. He could just imagine what the guy would say if he knew the entire bar below had just heard them moving the bed across the floor one deep, hard, hammering thrust at a time. 

“Anyway, Garth thanks for dinner. It’s amazing,” Sam said, digging back in to his half-demolished portion. 

“No problem. It’s nice to be appreciated.” 

Dean scoffed. “Oh my god, I appreciate you, Garth. I swear, you sound like Ellen only more passive agressive.” 

“Do not.” 

“Just like that time you did my laundry without my knowledge and complained that I didn’t notice.” 

“Well, I just figured it would be something you might mention. Seeing as how eighty percent of your wardrobe was dirty and then you magically have a closet full of clean clothes.” 

“I noticed and I was going to say something but then you-” 

“Aww! It’s so cute!” Dean and Garth turned to look at Sam, who looked back at them with wide amused doe eyes. “You two sound just like an old married couple.” 

“Fuck off,” Dean cursed, giving Sam a dirty look. 

“I _gotta_ get my own place,” Garth remarked as he turned his attention back to the meal in front of him. 

“So how did the rest of the shift go? Full house?” Dean asked once they had all quieted back down, each of them taking a corner of the kitchen as they stood and ate leisurely. 

Garth slurped up a noodle, the end whipping up to slap him in the nose. He nodded as he wiped the sauce from his upper lip. “Yup. Band should be startin’ up any minute. It was getting’ pret-ty crazy down there before I left but Jude said they could handle it. Told ‘em to call if they needed backup.” 

“Good. Thanks,” he said around a mouthful. 

“So Sam… Saw you hangin’ out with reigning king of APA earlier.” 

Dean choked on the food that had suddenly rebelled and decided it no longer wanted to proceed on it’s original trajectory down his throat. He cut a quick glare at Garth, willing him to shut up. Not that Garth would intentionally screw him over. Rationally, Dean knew that. It was the unintentional slips that worried him. 

Sam slapped Dean on the back, assisting him in dislodging the uncooperative food as he frowned at Garth. “Who? Dallas?” 

Garth had ignored Dean’s entire choking debacle and pressed on stubbornly. “Yeah. What’s up with that? You friends with him or something?” 

“Or something.” Sam shrugged and stirred his fork through the last remnants of pasta. “It’s stupid.” 

“What’s stupid?” Dean asked. The truth was that Dean had wanted to grill Sam for the past several hours over what had gone down at the table. Craig and Dallas had looked far too serious and calculating for his liking, but asking Sam outright had seemed like a bad idea. The last thing he wanted to do was to draw any attention to the fact that his association with the APA was anything but casual. 

Sam sniffed and put the bowl down on the counter, crossing his arms in a way that Dean knew meant he wasn’t comfortable with the subject. It was textbook defensive body language which he was sure Sam knew as well. 

“They want me to join APA.” The room was completely silent. “Stupid right? I mean, I’m the last person that would fit in with those guys.” 

Dean and Garth stared at one another. Half a dozen wordless conversations traveled between them, none of them happy, all of them filled with unanswerable questions. 

“That seems…odd, doesn’t it?” Garth finally asked. “Don’t they usually require people to pledge? Jump through a bunch of hoops before they bother to accept you?” 

“Normally, yeah.” 

Dean swallowed. There were so many things that could be happening here. He didn’t like any of them. His mind blanked out with the imagery of a rotating red signal light, his ears filled with the phantom sound of a deep booming siren. 

“And this time?” he managed to spit out. 

Sam actually chuffed a laugh and smiled ruefully at Dean. “They want me because I’m gay.” 

“Because you’re…” 

“Gay?” Garth mouth hung open and his head tilted making him look like an overgrown confused Chihuahua. 

“Yeah,” Sam laughed at the other man’s expression. “You did _know_ I was gay, didn’t you, Garth?” 

Garth gave him a dry look and shook his head. “Why would they want you because you’re gay?” 

“Some grant they’re looking to get. Seems they need to prove diversity amongst the ranks.” “So…” Dean was at this point gripping hard at the edge of the countertop and he was sure he would leave grooves where his grasping fingers were pressed. “You’ve got a pass? You’re just…automatically in?” 

Sam nodded. 

This was bad. This was so beyond bad. 

“Gonna do it?” 

Dean looked from Garth to Sam, waiting for his answer. 

“Honestly? I was completely against the idea from the start.” 

_Oh thank you God!_

“But the more I thought about it and the more they talked about the benefits of joining…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s a party tomorrow night. I’m supposed to go. Mingle, I guess? Get a sense of the whole thing.” 

“Party?” Surely they hadn’t invited him to the after party. Surely. 

“Just a meet-n-greet for potential pledges,” he clarified. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t bother. You guys know them better. What do you think?” 

This time Dean kept his eyes as far away from his roommate as he could. He kept his gaze focused solely on Sam and, affecting an air of indifference, spoke the next three words with a voice that held a calm he did not at that moment actually possess. “Not worth it.” 

“I agree,” Garth seconded. 

“No?” 

“No. They’re decent guys to hang out with. Party with. But on a regular basis?” He shook his head. “Not to mention, what would I do while you were off all the time doing all of the moronic things the pledges are forced to do?” 

Sam let himself be drawn back into the circle of his arms. Dean shifted and placed an open mouth kiss along Sam’s jaw. 

“True. You do seem to require a lot of attention.” 

“I really do,” Dean breathed against Sam’s ear. He smiled as Sam seized up in another of those delicious full-body shivers. He took the opportunity to turn and press the taller man back into the counter, effectively trapping him between his arms. “I think I’m in need of a little of that attention right now.” 

“Gonna use the bathroom. Meet you in the bedroom in five. Be there and be naked.” 

Dean growled and claimed Sam’s mouth roughly with promise. “I’ll be there,” he said against Sam’s mouth. 

Sam left the room with another quick thanks to Garth and Dean eyed his best friend warily. 

His roommate’s eyes narrowed with intense worry. “You cannot let him get involved with this.” 

Dean plowed all ten fingers through his hair, gripping the strands tightly, “You’re not telling me a fuckin’ thing I don’t already know, Garth.” 

Garth, of course, knew nothing about Sam being a hunter. If Dean was honest, Sam was just as qualified as he was to deal with this all. But Dean had already lost one person to the group and Jo had been as good as any hunter he’d come across. He’d be damned if he let Sam walk into the same trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your patience. I've had a lot going on personally and now understand the term 'putting the pieces back together' so writing has had to take a back seat. I haven't abandoned any story and don't intend to, I just have to do things in my own time right now.
> 
> The next chapter will be the party so keep your eyes open for that.


End file.
